


Running on Empty

by KBates



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Exiled Jareth, F/M, Good versus Evil, Jareth has a sexy badass mofo brother who's a total villain, Romance, Slow Burn, True Love, UST, in freaking northern Canada, in the face of grave danger, plucky heroine and sarcastic anti-hero fall in love, the danger isn't polar bears), while overcoming obstacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KBates/pseuds/KBates
Summary: After years of living in exile, Jareth is faced with the dilemma of having to rescue his old nemesis—the one who’d caused his exile in the first place, Sarah Williams.After years of radio silence, Sarah is shocked when the Goblin King shows up at her door—claiming he’s there to save her life. But then again, nothing is as it seems with Jareth—who seems to have another plan of his own.[COMPLETE]





	1. Prologue: The Other Side of the Door

**Author's Note:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group. Wish I could remember my dreams—I sleep like the dead.  
> A couple of things first—this isn’t dark Jareth—or even morally ambiguous Jareth (not by my standards anyway)—this is snarky, sarcastic, a bit wounded, but still dangerous Jareth. Sarah—perhaps a bit more of a ‘regular person’ than how I normally write her. It’ll be about 9 or 10 chapters—story already mapped out. 
> 
> So…here goes.  
> OMG—no warnings apply! Very rare for one of my stories. Nothing controversial.

He awakens as a slim arm wraps around his frame—it takes a few seconds for him to open his eyes and take in his surroundings, his face immediately curling in distaste. It’s one of those ultramodern hotel suites—stark white and minimally decorated—all sharp edges. A figure huddles closer to him, seeking his warmth, he supposes—his body temperature is always a bit higher than that of most humans. He turns his gaze towards his two, deliciously naked companions, who lie in bed asleep—it had been a glorious evening and an even more glorious night.

Detangling himself from one of their grasps, he sits up—stretching his back like a well-rested cat, his movements slow and languid. He rises and walks out of the bedroom, and into the sitting room—or did they call it living room, here? He doesn’t care either way. Sinking down on a sofa, with a glass of water in his hand, he switches on the television and flips through channels.

A harsh laugh escapes his lips as he laments over what’s become of his life—at this time of the morning, there’s nothing on television except infomercials on cheap jewelry and miracle cures for balding. He keeps flipping through channels until he reaches a channel that’s playing the local news. Something about an attack in Alphabet City. He sighs— _humans_ , for such a fragile lot, they sure loved their tragedies and disasters.

Just as he’s about to change the channel, the image of a woman, one he’s only _too_ familiar with, catches his unnerving eyes and he stares at the screen. The writing below says Sarah Williams, Manhattan resident, attacked outside her building.

_A simpering news anchor smiles brightly at the camera, before turning to Sarah. “So, Sarah, you’re saying you’re sure this wasn’t a mugging?”_

He sees her shift, slightly—as if uncomfortable being on camera. She’s exactly as he remembers—older perhaps—but the mortal aging process is a mystery he doesn’t quite understand.

_The interviewer ‘awwws’ with fake sympathy. “Take your time, Sarah—you must have been frightened.”_

_Sarah finally looks at the woman. “He didn’t go for my purse, or my laptop bag—it didn’t feel like a mugging.”_

He watches her shiver—terror in her eyes. He smirks—getting a thrill out of watching his old nemesis so afraid. It’s petty, he supposes, but it can’t be helped. She is the cause of his downfall after all, it’s impossible not to carry a bit of resentment.

_The news anchor’s smile remains plastered on her face. “So how did you fight him off?”_

_Sarah responds with a shrug. “I don’t know—he went straight for my neck. I couldn’t even remember half the steps I learned in a self-defense class. He bit me, but then I pushed him off. A neighbor came down to check out the commotion—that’s when he disappeared.”_

_The interviewer looks at the camera and grins for the audience. “Can you believe it, folks? A neighbor actually came downstairs to check out the commotion in this city.”_

_“I suppose it’s a miracle,” Sarah says through gritted teeth, clearly irritated by the interviewer’s cheeriness. “But—”_

The television shuts down with a flash.

Jareth stands—he clenches his fingers around his glass before throwing it on the floor—watching it break into a thousand pieces. He feels rage and fury. Blinding, unadulterated anger, as he recalls Sarah’s face…someone had dared touch her. And the High Court had allowed it.

With a low growl, he controls himself from kicking the glass coffee table. He knows that this isn’t a random attack—it is meant for his benefit. To alert him that he holds no power in his own Kingdom. Jareth sneers at the thought—the stupid girl is in danger and she doesn’t even know it.

A darker side of him says ‘ _so what? Let her get killed’_ —it’s not as if his situation could get any worse than this. But then again, a more rational side reminds him that he _does_ stand to benefit, quite a great deal, if he’s able to keep her alive and use her towards his advantage. The thought compels him into action—he heads into the bathroom for a shower, weaving a minor sleeping spell around the women who remain asleep on the bed.

Running a hand through his unruly hair, the former Goblin King, tries keeping Sarah’s image out of his mind while he showers. _But he can’t_. Putting on his clothes, he walks over to the bed and trails his fingers down a dark haired woman’s face. She looks up sleepily—eyes green, but not as shocking as hers.

“You may keep the room till evening,” he says before turning around and walking away.

\--

_Late. Late. Late. I’m fucking late for work!_

Sarah Williams makes a mad dash towards her miserably small kitchenette and grabs a bagel. Late, in this economy, meant being put on the spotlight— _not_ the good kind. Being put on the spotlight meant being the first one fired. Being the first one fired meant never working in the industry again, moving back home, and working as a secretary…or whatever else her art history major allows.

Jumping up and down comically, she puts on her shoes—stylish, yet practical. Not like in the movies where heroines somehow manage to wear the skinniest of Louboutins while running two blocks, getting in the subway, reaching their stop—running _two more_ blocks and getting to work on time. All the while, looking absolutely perfect.

 _Scoff at movies later, get to work Williams_!—she reprimands herself— _keys, keys, keys!_

“Where did I put those fucking keys?!” She speaks aloud but there’s no one to hear her— _still_ , she does get a response.

“Meow?”

She looks down to see her scraggly pet rubbing against her legs. The poor thing had been a rescue kitten who’d lost chunks of her fur due to being abandoned in the cold. She’d been the ugliest little kitten in the rescue center and Sarah had scooped her up immediately. Now she was a chubby, well fed cat—but her fur hadn’t grown back, giving her a mangy look.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, you’re going to make my boss sneeze,” she scolds—not that Miss Elizabeth Bennet gives a damn.

_Aha! Finally—the stupid fucking keys!_

She finds the keys under her kindle on the coffee table. Grabbing her coat, she makes a hasty dash for the door…only to be interrupted by a loud knock. Her recent stint with violence makes her blood run cold at the sound. She takes a few shaky steps forward.

“Who is it?” she asks, cringing. It’s not as if the attacker is going to respond with ‘it is I, the crazy rapist—I’ve come back to complete my vicious attack.’

There’s silence for a few seconds before a male voice answers her. “Let me in, Sarah.”

The voice she hears makes her blood run even colder.

_WHAT. THE. FUCK._

She’d recognize that voice anywhere—she stands frozen while the…Man? Faerie? Magician? …continues knocking loudly.

“Sarah. Open the door this instant—I can hear you. Going by your heartrate, you recognize who I am.”

Anger overtakes fear in a flash. _Open the door this instant? Who is he to boss her around? Hadn’t she won his stupid game? And he can fucking hear her heartbeat?_

“What do you want?” She asks. _Stupid Williams_ — _it’s not like he’s going to say ‘I, the Goblin King, want to seek revenge.’_

A deep sigh. “The attack—I have information on your attacker.”

_Wait—what? Crazy rapist was one of his kind?_

Her anger grows tenfold—but she opens the door. She can’t help but gasp when she sees her former villain standing on the other side. He looks the same—harsh lines, wild hair—perhaps a bit shorter, cruel lips…and those _eyes_.

Smirking as he notes Sarah’s reaction, Jareth enters her apartment without being invited in. “You can stop staring, Sarah.”

 _OOOH. Smug bastard_.

“What do you want?” she asks again, brows raised. “I’m so fucking late for work. This better be quick.”

He shoots her a look dripping with disdain before languidly slinking down on her too-small sofa. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll have to quit, in any case.”

“WHAT?” She’d begged, pleaded, and turned into too many people’s unpaid personal assistant for this job. “Are you crazy?”

A cool brow. “Everybody is crazy if you truly think about it…but no, I am not a lunatic. Do sit down.”

Sarah’s temper flares to new heights as she stomps to her armchair and sits down across from him. “What the fuck, Jareth? You show up after ten years and decide to get me fired? If this is some kind of revenge fantasy—it’s fucking lame.”

He smiles, oblivious to her anger. “You know my name…the traitorous dwarf, I suppose?” His smile deepens as she glares at him. “But never mind that. I’m not here to get you fired, silly girl—though with your attitude, that would have happened sooner or later. I’m here because I’m fairly certain your… _attacker_ …will return to complete his task.”

She shuts up at that—“Why do you care, anyway?”

Unfortunately, Sarah doesn’t get an answer as Jareth jumps up from his seated position, seemingly alarmed.

“Meow?”

“What, in the world, is that?” The Goblin King asks, scrutinizing the mangy cat with a frown.

 _Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t fucking laugh_ —she commands herself—except, she can’t help it. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, as usual, had decided she wanted to test this stranger’s lap. And Jareth, by the looks of it, clearly wasn’t a cat person.

“That’s Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Sarah says, a big grin breaking out across her face as she watches him dust his clothes.

He raises his brows. “You call your cat Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

“Yep—she answers to Miss Bennet, Elizabeth, Lizzie, and even Miss Elizabeth. Not Eliza though.”

Jareth rolls his eyes heavenward—and then he turns serious. “We need to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

\--


	2. Travel Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Stressing again—no warnings apply! Nothing controversial.
> 
> Note: This story isn’t going up on ffnet. My inbox is too jumbled and I just cannot deal with that site.

 

\--

Sarah takes a deep breath, trying to keep her anger and burgeoning anxiety at bay. “You can’t just show up here and make crazy demands, Jareth, I _really_ need to get to work. I don’t know what’s going on, but I was pretty freaked out by the attack—stop trying to fuck with my head, or whatever else it is you’re trying to do.”

His face remains impassive during her little speech—the only sign of irritation is a small twitch in his jaw. “Sarah,” he speaks, drawing out her name, as he had all those years ago—a hint of frustration to his tone. “I don’t have the time to explain every minute detail of your… _predicament_. But let me reassure you that if you remain here, he will return, and he _will_ kill you, or _worse_. Call your office and ask for a leave of absence—say it’s an emergency.”

Her jaw drops open. _Kill…or worse? And wait a second—he knows the term leave of absence? What the hell is he doing here in the first place?_

“Why are you here, _really_?” Sarah blurts. “I mean, do you live in New York?” She pauses and eyes him suspiciously. “How’d you find out where I live?”

“I’ll answer the rest of your questions later—but in summary—yes, I live in New York. I am here, in _your_ world, because I was exiled—and I’d rather not get into the details of _that_ ,” he adds the latter half quickly when he sees her jump up with another question in mind. “As for finding out where you lived… _easy_ , really. I called the network and asked.”

“And they gave you my _private_ information just like that?”

A slow smirk. “I can be quite persuasive when necessary.” He closes the distance between them in a flash of a second. Placing his fingers under her chin, he forces her to look into his eyes. “I shall not repeat myself twice, precious—pack a small suitcase and come with me.”

She gapes— _precious? Pack a suitcase? Why is he so damned close anyway?!_

She takes a hasty step back. “You said he’d kill me, or _worse_. What’s worse?”

Jareth purses his thin lips into a line of discontentment. He supposes it’s best to answer her as she needs to understand the direness of her situation. “Considering that the High Court allowed him access to you, I suppose he’ll hand you over to them. You’d be a pet, passed around as…entertainment.”

His words have the desired effect—she gasps and sinks down on her arm chair, eyes wide. “How can something like this happen?” she asks, mostly rhetorically.

Letting out a low growl, Jareth grabs her by the upper arm and hauls her to her feet. He’s had enough. “It can, and it _will_. Pack your things.”

Sarah doesn’t argue—his words and actions are harsh, but his strange eyes hold a certain fear in them. “Fine,” she says, taking her phone out of her purse to call her work—she tells them that a religious, family emergency has come up and she needs to take a leave of absence.

Jareth raises an amused brow. “What exactly is a religious family emergency?” he asks, following her to her miniscule bedroom and watching her pull out a suitcase from a closet with no doors. He scrunches his nose.

“Something that ensures they can’t fire me—HR would have a fit—it’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” Sarah says with a roll of her eyes—she can read the distaste clearly written on his face. Apparently, her apartment isn’t to His Highness’ standards. Well…he could go to hell. It’d been a miracle that she’d found a one bedroom apartment she could afford without a roommate. In _fucking_ Manhattan.

A short laugh. “Clever girl.”

She lifts her head to glare at him—her eyes blazing fire. “I’m not a girl, Jareth—in case you haven’t—” she holds her hands to her hips when she sees his gaze heat up. “Don’t make an insinuating comment, _please_.”

Inclining his head in concession, Jareth smirks in the face of her anger. “Very well,” he states, turning around. “Hurry up.”

\--

_What’s taking her so fucking long?_

Jareth paces the small living room, his usually graceful movements slightly agitated. He has an idea who’d been behind the attack. And if he’s correct…he clenches his fists in response. If he’s correct, there’s a good chance that his diminished magic will not be enough to keep her protected. Or _himself_ , for that matter.

“Jareth?”

He stops pacing and looks at her—“I said _one_ suitcase, Sarah. You can’t bring… _that_.” He eyes the mangy, half bald cat who stares at him defiantly from her carrier case.

Sarah doesn’t flinch at his harsh tone. “There’s no fucking way I’m leaving Miss Elizabeth Bennet behind.”

“ _Sarah_ ,” he says, warning clearly palpable in his voice. His eyes burn into hers, an icy fire in them.

A shiver of fear runs down her spine—his tone evokes the familiar emotion she’d felt when he’d burst into her father’s bedroom all those years ago. _Still_ , she doesn’t flinch. “If you want me to come with you, you’ll have to let Lizzie come along.”

Jareth—rather miraculously—stops himself from walking up to the insolent mortal child, holding her by the shoulders and shaking her roughly. He narrows his eyes at her defiance. “You have a passport, I assume?”

 _Passport_? “Uh, yeah,” she responds, opening up her desk drawer and pulling out a small, blue booklet. “Why would I need my passport…are we going somewhere?”

“We might,” he snaps out a succinct answer before grabbing both her suitcases and walking out the door.

“I guess I’ll just follow you, then,” she mumbles sarcastically.

They climb down three flights of stairs in silence, until Miss Elizabeth Bennet meows loudly, seemingly infuriated at having been dumped in her little jail cell.

A nondescript black car is parked next to the curb, blinking lights on. Jareth places her suitcases in the back and opens one of the backdoors. “After you.”

_Hmm…old school manners._

Sarah places Lizzie’s carrier on the floor—making sure it’s secure. She almost winces when he gets in from the other side, slamming the door with a little too much force than necessary. Somehow, she’s not surprised to find a chauffeur in the front.

Jareth trains his eyes on the man sitting in the driver’s seat. “Home—James. Quickly.” That’s all he says.

Raising her brows at his commanding tone, Sarah asks, “So…you have a car and a driver?”

“I subscribe to a chauffeured car service when it suits my needs, Sarah. How do _you_ get around?” 

“I take the subway, bus, occasional Uber like _most_ of the _plebeians_ in this city,” she replies. She notices they’re going towards the bridge…Brooklyn. The Goblin King lives in Brooklyn—who’d have thought?

Jareth doesn’t respond to her snarky comment—instead, choosing to gaze out of the window as they cross the bridge. He’d come up with an impromptu plan when he’d seen Sarah on TV that morning, but now he questions the effectiveness of such a plan. They’d only be delaying the inevitable…

Sarah gapes, mouth wide open as the car stops by a massive brownstone—she’s never seen one this big. It’s as if they broke down two houses to make one. “You stay in the _rich_ side of Brooklyn,” she observes, stepping out of the car, “…exile must be nice.” She’s about to say something else but his piercing sharp gaze stops her instantly.

“ _Nice_?” he asks, tone deceptively mild, but something dangerous flickers in his eyes. “Do you know what exile has cost me, precious thing?”

She swallows nervously—damn, he looked pissed off. “Um… _no_ …?” What else is she supposed to say to _that_?!

He grins at her fear, razor sharp teeth gleaming in the pale winter sunlight. “No, you don’t,” he agrees. “Never bring it up again.”

Nodding her head vigorously, she agrees. “Yep, got it.” _Touchy about the whole exile thing_ , she notes to herself.

Jareth walks up the steps to his front door, indicating that she follow him. He sighs as he enters the foyer—noticing a woman, who sits at waiting area—her eyes glued to her phone.

“Etel,” he says, a half smile on his face as she looks up. “Can I help you with something?”

Etel smiles a dazzling smile, one that would make any orthodontist weep with joy, as she stands and walks up to Jareth. She kisses him on one cheek and then the other. “Jareth,” she breathes—an accent to her voice. “I’m sorry to barge in, but I left some… _clothes_ the last time I was here. Your assistant was confused as to where they were, she said she’d get my things…” her dark eyes find Sarah’s and she falters a bit.

_Wow. This is awkward._

Sarah smiles—or attempts to smile at the strangely familiar, long legged woman who seems quite comfortable in Jareth’s arms. She is about as tall as Jareth—her cinnamon colored hair perfectly wavy without a hint of static electricity—even in fucking winter. Her makeup is impeccable, just the right amount to give her a naturally refreshing look. Her face is as sharp as his, utterly beautiful—cheekbones to die for. And, of course, she’s thin. She has an accent that mixes Vs and Ws together—and Sarah can’t quite place it—she’s never been able to discern accents well.

_Maybe she’s his girlfriend? Maybe she thinks I’m some floozy who slept with her boyfriend..? Maybe she’ll try clawing my eyes out? Nope…she’s still smiling…damn she’s good looking. And Jareth doesn’t seem the ‘steady’ boyfriend type. Gah—Williams—say something instead of staring at her like some frat boy!_

“Um…hello…?” Sarah says after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, extending a hand. “I’m Sarah.”

Etel’s smile only widens. “Yes, I remember you—you were a line producer for Runway Stories. You were…very nice…not many producers are.”

Ahhh… _that’s_ why she seems familiar. Runway Stories was a documentary her channel had commissioned and Etel had been one of the models who’d agreed to be filmed. “ _Junior assistant_ line producer,” Sarah corrects the woman, smiling back. “I remember you as well—have to say, I was quite impressed—by _all_ of you. I didn’t know that modeling was such a tough career.”

Etel gives her a grateful look. “You were so sweet to all of us—I remember you brought coffee and croissants every morning.”

“Yes, well, you guys looked like you needed…” Sarah catches herself before she says ‘food,’ “refreshment.”

Beaming, Etel detangles herself from Jareth and gives a surprised Sarah a warm hug. “Thank you, Sarah.”

Sarah pats the woman on her back, unsure of what else to do. “No worries, Etel,” she struggles pronouncing the name as smoothly as Jareth had.

“Ehem,” a new voice interrupts. “These are your things, I believe.”

Startled, Sarah turns towards the interrupting voice—eyes widening as she takes in an impossibly tall, dark haired woman. _This woman_ …is his _assistant_? She’s even taller than he is, dressed in black leather tights and a white t-shirt. Her hair is cut short—an androgynous pixie cut—and her eyes are as piercingly ice blue. She holds a paper bag in one hand—a hint of lace peeks out, giving Sarah a good idea on the kind of clothes Etel had left behind.

“Yes,” says Etel, taking a paper bag from the pixie cut woman. “Thank you, Merin.”

Merin smiles sharply, but doesn’t say anything—she wordlessly hands over the bag.

Etel turns her dark gaze back to Jareth and gives him a smile. “I hope I’ll see you again, Jareth.” The words are heavy, tone low and seductive.

Jareth, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet for a while, smiles back—lips thin, teeth sharp. “Of course.”

Etel turns to Sarah, “And you, Sarah.” That’s all she says before walking out of the door.

Sarah stares at the retreating model— _so that’s his type then. Impossible thin with boobs—what she calls ITWB. So what?! Williams—it’s not like you’d be his type. But hadn’t he said fear me, love me, blah blah blah? You idiot, that’s because he wanted you to forget Toby._

“She’s nice,” Sarah says, her tone playful—as if she’s trying to cut through the tension that had built up around them.

Jareth doesn’t respond—turning, instead, to Merin. “Thank you, Merin—I need you to order a few things for me.”

The tall, black haired woman reclines her head. “Anything, Your Majesty.”

Sarah’s eyes widen— _not human then_ —but Jareth doesn’t seem fazed.

“Don’t call me that, Merin—I’m no longer the Goblin King,” he admonishes, his tone light. “Here’s a list of things,” he hands over a piece of paper, “…take Sarah’s size into account.”

 _Wait—what? My size into account, for what?_ “Erm…” Sarah tries interrupting, but neither of them look towards her.

Merin bows low. “As you wish, Sire.” She leaves the foyer area, disappearing down a small corridor—leaving both of them alone.

“I’ll order some lunch for you, Sarah,” Jareth states, once Merin disappears from view. “What would you like?”

Sarah raises her brows. “Fruits? Salad? Anything that won’t make me feel like a slob in light of Etel.” Sarah curses herself once the words come out— _great, Williams! You sound like you’re jealous and you want to impress him_. “I mean—nothing to do with _you_ —but I was just reminded why _I_ shouldn’t eat a burger for lunch.” She laughs weakly at her own joke.

Jareth narrows his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not— _seriously_ —just give me two bananas and an apple, and I’m good to go.”

Gritting his teeth—Jareth forces himself not to argue. “Very well,” he says, “Come with me.” He indicates that she place Lizzie’s carrier on a Queen Anne’s chair—one that Etel had been sitting on a while ago. “The feline will have to remain here.”

Said ‘feline’ stares at the former Goblin King with a darkly promising gaze, as if she’s saying ‘I shall have my revenge soon enough.’ Unfortunately, Jareth doesn’t seem to notice.

\--

“So…you’re into dark wood and leather…” Sarah observes as they walk towards wherever he’s leading them. His décor says ‘modern take on regency’—the walls are wood paneled, floor to ceiling bookshelves line his living room where overstuffed leather couches are arranged artfully. Going by the sparse number of couches, he doesn’t entertain much.

He opens a door and holds it for her. “After you.”

She does as he asks, surprised to find herself in a home office. Why’d the former Goblin King need a home office, anyway?

“Please sit.”

 _Ooh, Mr. Perfect Manners,_ she thinks sarcastically—but she does as he asks, eyebrows raised. “What’s going—”

Jareth cuts in. “Stop talking and _listen_ , Sarah,” he says—satisfied when her eyes widen just a fraction. His tone had come out sharper than he’d intended. “We’ll head to JFK as soon as Merin gets your things, and proper documentation for your cat.”

 _Okaaay_. “Can’t you just, you know, poof us there?” Sarah asks—the thought of Jareth going through airport security like the rest of the sad saps at JFK makes her giggle. She wonders where they’re going—maybe they’ll go to Rio or Nairobi or Tashkent.

“I can’t _poof_ us anywhere—most of my magic was bound when I was exiled, and the remaining bit has been diminished because of my… _surroundings_.”

 _Oh_. “Where are we going?” She thinks of Bora Bora.

“Calgary.”

“Calgary?!” So much for Rio or Nairobi or Tashkent or Bora Bora—“Who escapes to Canada? That’s the lamest escape ever.”

Jareth frowns at her reaction. “We’re not escaping, Sarah. I have an isolated cabin in the mountains—about seven hours northwest from Calgary. The setting will allow for a restoration of my magic, and I will be…better prepared to handle what comes next.”

Poor Sarah is more than a little disappointed. “You know…every horror movie _ever_ , says going to an isolated cabin when a crazy, murdering, rapist is after you is a _terrible_ idea.”

Sighing harshly, Jareth shoots her a grim look. “He isn’t a crazy, murdering, rapist, Sarah—he’s a cold, systematic, powerful creature who will stop at nothing to have you. He _will_ find us—that is inevitable—and when he does, I need to have a fighting chance.”

She looks away, a pang of fear takes hold of her chest and she finds it difficult to breathe. “You know who he is?” she asks, focusing on an ornate clock that sits on his desk, trying to keep herself calm.

“Perhaps.” The harsh lines on Jareth’s soften as he notices her fear—she looks so frightened, so vulnerable. “I’ll protect you to the best of my ability, precious.”

She looks up, wide eyed. “Why?”

Her question catches him off-guard and he struggles to find his right words—her jade eyes bore into his, seeking the truth.

“Because…you need my protection.”

Sarah scoffs, her gaze hardens. “Stupid answer, Jareth. I mean, it seems like you’ve been living in New York for a while—you haven’t gotten in touch. Haven’t even said hello. _Now_ , all of a sudden, you want to play knight in shining armor. What do _you_ get out of the whole thing?”

A slow smile. “Clever, Sarah,” he says, amusement coloring his voice. “I choose not to answer your question.”

“Then I choose not to cooperate,” Sarah retorts, folding her arms to her chest.

Jareth’s smile turns dangerous, a hint of malice flickers in his eyes. “Then the crazy, murdering, rapist,” he uses her words, “…as you call him, shall find you sooner rather than later.” He studies her intensely, remaining impassive when hurt flashes in her eyes for a brief moment. “Don’t fight me on this, Sarah—you have my help, should you accept.”

Sarah nods— _what choice does she have_? She’s about to ask him something else, when her phone buzzes—it’s her dad.

“Hold on,” she says, checking his message, which reads— _be careful Sarah, we’re worried_ —along with a news link. She rolls her eyes—ever since she’d been attacked, her father had been on a mission to get her to move out of the city and somewhere closer to home. The link takes her to a story about two women who were brutally murdered in an upscale hotel suite.

“What’s wrong?” Jareth asks, noting her eyes widen.

“It says two women were murdered in a hotel suite,” she replies, thrusting her phone towards him—“you don’t think it’s the same person, do you?”

Jareth’s usually impassive face contorts with shock. “I was with them last night…in that suite.”

_What—both of them? At once?_

“So…is it the same attacker?”

Jareth doesn’t respond. He holds out his hand—she takes it. “We must leave. _Now_.”

\--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And they’re off to the great white north—lamest escape ever.
> 
> Assume J’s cabin is somewhere in BC, Canadian Rockies—close to the Alberta border. Gorgeous setting. My parents lived in a place like that for a while.
> 
> We like Sarah in this one?


	3. A Man of Many Talents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Setting: the cabin’s in the mountains somewhere in British Columbia (which is a province in Canada) – close to the Alberta border (also a province). Gorgeous, fairly isolated setting. Snowcapped mountains, pine trees. You can see black bears fishing in streams if you drive further up north.
> 
> JFK is an airport in NYC. Holy Jesus the security line is crazy long.
> 
> Note: This story isn’t going up on ffnet. My inbox is too jumbled and I just cannot deal with that site.

 

\--

They sit in the car in silence as James expertly zips through traffic, making Sarah question whether the car’s been ‘magicked’ like the magic bus in Harry Potter. Or perhaps James is a former Formula One driver—she marvels at the ease with which he drives. She thinks of her dad, who absolutely hates driving in the city. _Parking_ is a nightmare all by itself…

Reaching into her purse the second she thinks of her dad, Sarah pulls out her phone and calls him. “Hey dad. How’s work going?”

Jareth listens in on the conversation with undisguised interest. A smile breaks across his face as she deftly lies to her father, telling him that she has to go on a work trip to a remote destination, where cellphone reception would be murky at best. His heart skips a beat when she ends the conversation with ‘love you.’ The look in her eyes says she means it—an emotion akin to jealousy rises in his chest. The ease with which mortals lie is almost equal to the ease with which they love.

“What?” Sarah asks, feeling the weight of his gaze…the look in his eyes unnerving. “You’re beginning to creep me out—more than this morning.” A niggling fear takes form in the back of her mind, something she can’t quite place.

“I admire your lying skills, precious.” He humors her with the truth.

Sarah grins. “It’s a well cherished talent. Here I thought _you’d_ be the master of lying…”

He bares his canines in a wolfish smile. “I cannot lie, Sarah. It’s one of the laws that binds our kind.”

Raising her eyebrows, she processes the information, curiosity quickly overtaking her thoughts. “So when someone asks you the color of the sky, you have to say blue…?”

Jareth sighs. _Of all the inane questions…_ “I could answer in numerous ways. The color of the sky is based on perception—if one perceives it to be blue, than it is blue. If one perceives it to be green, then it is green.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at his response, trust Jareth to bend the truth and turn it into an existential dilemma. _Still_ , she keeps this knowledge stored in the back of her head. When asking Jareth questions, it’s best to stick to ones that have ‘yes or no’ responses. 

“Your answer reminds me of this logic class I took once. Apparently, you can use calculus to prove there’s a green goblin in the sky because _nothing_ can be _irrefutably_ disproven. That’s total bullshit, because everyone knows there _isn’t_ a green goblin in the sky.”

Humor lights up his pale eyes. “How do you know there _isn’t_ a green goblin in the sky, precious?”

“Uh…” Sarah struggles to respond, mouth open. _You’re sitting in a car with the Goblin King, heading to JFK of all places—there may as well be a green goblin in the sky for all you know_ —that’s the kind of thing her dad would say, just to get on her nerves. At the thought of her dad, the niggling fear in the back of her mind comes to the forefront, and she gasps loudly. Her heart thunders riotously in her chest, and sheer panic overtakes her senses.

“Sarah, what’s wrong?”

She looks at him, eyes pleading—her breathing deep. “My family—what if he goes after them?” Her voice is weak and shivers run down her spine. _How stupid had she been not to think of this before?_

Jareth reaches out instinctively, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close—he ignores the urge to bury his face in her hair. “There are rules for interfering with this realm, precious, the High Court will not allow it. You are… _different_.”

She pulls away. “How do you know for sure? He went after those women you were with.”

Jareth can’t find an answer for that—he looks at her for a few moments before addressing the driver. “We need to make a quick stop at Le Marquis, James.”

\--

Le Marquis, as it turns out, was a night club. Sarah eyes her surroundings warily, making sure not to step on any suspicious items on the floor. Like most nightclubs, the place looks positively depressing during the daytime. Dusty walls, dirty counters, spilt liquor—and who knows what else—on the floor. She follows Jareth, quickening her steps to keep up with his pace. She notices a male figure languidly reclined, in one of the booths that sits on a platform.

“The Goblin King deigns to enter my humble dwelling,” the man drawls, a laugh at the end of his words. “Will wonders never cease?”

“Stay behind me,” Jareth warns, teeth bared as he walks towards the man. “Helios.”

The man remains reclined. “Jareth.” His skin reflects a warm olive tone, his hair is mostly brown, with subtle gold highlights due to sun exposure.

Sarah studies the man as they reach him, figuring it’s his eyes that give him his name. They burn bright shade of orange and gold—like the early morning sun.

Helios smiles coldly at her, before turning his eyes to Jareth. “You’ve brought me…a gift?”

Jareth doesn’t respond. “Who is it?” His voice is sharp enough to make Sarah shiver.

Helios raises a golden-brown eyebrow. “Who is _what_?”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this, Helios,” Jareth says, smiling slowly before dragging Helios out of the booth in a lightening quick move.

Sarah yelps, terrified as Jareth slams Helios’ forehead onto the table, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the other holding his wrists. A few drops of golden liquid drip out of a large gash on Helios’s brow.

 _Is that his blood_?

Helios, for his part, laughs—a wheezing sound, as Jareth tightens his hold. “You remember the nights we spent together when you first arrived here, Goblin King? You know I can take far more damage than this. I’m game for anything if it includes a gloriously rough fucking session…especially if it’s with you.”

 _Whoa_. Blood creeps up Sarah’s face—her jaw falls open _. Jareth and Helios? Gloriously rough fucking session?  Well_ …she supposes… _why not_? He’s probably lived long enough to try everything more than once. Still _,_ she can’t help but notice that, just like Etel, Helios also fits the impossibly tall, thin, and ridiculously gorgeous category _. Seriously, Williams, get the ‘fear me, love me,’ bullshit out of your system._  

“Do not test my patience, Helios,” Jareth warns, voice deceptively mild. “I may not have adequate magic, but I do possess the strength the kill you.” He squeezes his hand around Helios’ throat, making him choke for a few seconds, before releasing him.

Helios almost looks disappointed as Jareth lets go of his throat. “You know who it is, Jareth—who else can it be? The High Court has sanctioned his… _hunt_.” His eyes turn to Sarah, a telltale smile on his lips.

_Hunt? Hunt? Did the man say hunt?_

Panic begins taking hold of her chest once more, and she struggles to breathe…or stand for that matter.

Jareth’s eyes blaze, barely contained fury threatening to break free—he slips an arm around the terrified mortal before her legs give way. His eyes remain fixed on Helios. “He hunted down two of my companions, I’m sure the High Court didn’t sanction that.”

Taking a napkin, Helios dabs at his brow. “The High Court grows desperate, they need the Labyrinth back in balance. In any case, it wasn’t he who killed your lovers. It was his pet—you know he never gets his own hands dirty. I’ve heard through a very reliable source that the High Court is willing to overlook the incident if he causes no further damage.”

Pulling away from Jareth’s arms, Sarah glares at Helios. “Will he go after my family?”

Helios lets out a strangled laugh, followed by a coughing fit—he traces his fingers around his throat. “I see the Goblin King hasn’t told you of your significance, mortal child.” He looks at Jareth as he addresses her.  “Your family will remain untouched, Sarah Williams. _You_ , on the other hand...”

“We need to leave, Sarah,” Jareth cuts in, holding her by the arm and leading her away before Helios says anything else.

\--

Jareth hadn’t so much as look at her after Le Marquis—he’d only communicated with short sentences when absolutely necessary.

Miraculously, Sarah had been able to keep herself calm throughout the day. Airport security had been a breeze through. Turned out, first class passengers weren’t subjected to the fuck-all, never-ending security lineup, characteristic of JFK. They had their own, smaller lineups with much nicer TSA personnel. She’d been surprised when Jareth had told her they would be taking a commercial flight—she’d half expected a private jet.

 _Not billionaire levels of wealthy, then_ , she’d surmised.

The flight to Calgary had lasted about five and a half hours—completely noneventful save for Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s angry meowing every once in a while. The eight hour drive from Calgary— _that’d_ been far more painful. Jareth had insisted on driving—and he’d driven like a maniac—poor Lizzie had meowed throughout, which only made him speed faster. They’d driven non-stop, until the snowcapped hills turned into snowcapped mountains, and the mountains grew taller, as did the trees.

When they’d finally arrived at their destination, Jareth had wordlessly helped her with her suitcases and taken her to a guestroom…and then he’d left saying “I’ll leave you to unpack.”

 _Man of a few words_ —she thinks, setting up the place for Elizabeth. Jareth’s ‘cabin’ is more of what she’d call a luxury cottage. The floor to ceiling windows are made of double paned glass—the flooring is rustic hardwood—completely dark. There are Western accents throughout—an accented wall with exposed stones, a country fireplace. There are two bedrooms, and much to her relief, two bathrooms. Jareth doesn’t seem the type to share a bathroom with Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s litter box.

Sarah reaches out to pet her much beloved cat after placing her under arrest for almost 17 hours, with a small break at the Calgary airport—only to take her hand back when the angry feline hisses viciously. She rolls her eyes, damned cat has more attitude than Diana Ross. Taking no notice of Sarah, Miss Elizabeth Bennet scurries under the king sized bed, her new sulking destination. Sarah takes the opportunity to unpack her clothes and toiletries—surprised to find a heavy winter coat, some gloves, a woolen cap, and boots among her possessions.

_That’s why he’d asked Merin to take your size into account, Williams—why else would he have asked her that?! A small voice can’t help but reply, ‘for all kinds of lacey items? Like the kind Etel had left behind?’ Another voice says ‘shut up!’ And yet another voice says, ‘stop talking to yourself, Williams—you’re beginning to sound insane.’_

All three voices argue with each other, until she smells food…she can tell it’s something delicious by the mouthwatering aroma.

_New plan, Williams—get some food first, analyze Jareth’s intentions later!_

All voices agree.

\--

Jareth hears Sarah the second she steps out of her room—his avian senses kicking in. How softly she shuts the door to her room, tentative steps as she figures her way to the kitchen. He knows she’s showered—she must have used a product scented with citrus and lemongrass. Closing his eyes, Jareth draws in a deep breath, the refreshing scent suits her well. He catches her eyes as she walks towards the open kitchen.

“I assume you’ve settled well?” he asks, going back to the task at hand—lifting the skillet by the handle, he gives the contents a firm shake.

Sarah raises her brows— _Jareth is cooking_? And he seems to know what he’s doing by the looks of it. “Yep. I’m surprised you can cook.” She cranes her neck to take a look at what he’s making “…what’s for dinner?”

“Stir fried chicken with basil and bok choi, with a side of burnt garlic brown rice.” Jareth grins as her mouth drops open—reaching into a cabinet he pulls out two glasses of wine and uncorks a bottle. “Wine?”

“Sure,” she says, taking a glass. “I am crazy impressed you know how to cook _all that_.” She can barely boil water.

A laconic brow. “None of the mortal chefs I was assigned were suitable for my tastes. I took the saying ‘if you want something done well, do it yourself’ to heart.”

“I’m not surprised,” she mumbles sarcastically, taking a plate and serving herself. She holds up her wineglass in a mock toast, “to the man of many talents.”

He refills both glasses before fixing a plate for himself. They sit in the massive kitchen that has an island in the middle—the cabinets are colored ivory and the granite tops are jet black. The lighting gives the place a cozy glow in spite of the modern look.

 _Why doesn’t he say something_?!—she thinks, agitated. _Ugh, the silence is getting unbearable! Wait a second, is he watching me eat? That’s creepy…and weirdly hot. Ahhh, did I just drop something on the floor? Dammit_.

“Why do you have a cabin in the mountains, literally in the middle of nowhere?” She blurts out, hoping he hadn’t noticed her drop a bite of chicken on his pristine floor.

“It allows me to replenish the little magic I have left,” Jareth responds, forcing his gaze away from her lips. His tone is bitter—a touch of hostility flares in his dual gaze—he’s reminded of _why_ he’s in such a weak position.

Sarah shivers—the force of his gaze makes her hair stand up. “So…how long does _that_ take? A week? A month? A year?” _Forever?_ She doesn’t say the last part out aloud.

A harsh laugh. “Don’t be deliberately obtuse, _Sarah_. It only takes a day or two.”

 _Oh_ …“What are we going to do in the meantime?”

Jareth stops himself from giving her a scathing reply— _how many damned questions is the mortal going to ask_? “We shall try and come up with a plan to keep you alive. Keep _us_ alive,” he says, voice sharp.

She bristles at the tone of his voice, but she also notices a look of fear in his cold eyes. It occurs to her that perhaps he’s not in control of the situation—not as much as he’d like her to believe, anyway. She struggles with her next question. “Who is he?”

Rich, throaty laughter reverberates off the walls. “He is the Goblin King.”

Sarah let’s out an indignant growl at _that_. “But _you’re_ the Goblin King.”

Raising an amused brow, Jareth notes the look of outrage on her face—outrage on _his_ behalf, that someone should take the title away from him. He opens a second bottle of wine and fills up their glasses. “The Goblin throne works, more or less, as any throne in most human kingdoms—if a king gets deposed, a new ruler of the same bloodline is crowned.”

 _Same bloodline_? “Don’t tell me you have an evil twin who was born seconds after you, and now wants the throne for himself? So clichéd,” Sarah jokes with an unladylike snort—the wine slowly loosening her tongue. Her shoulders are more relaxed, and her smiles less strained.  

“Very well—I _won’t_ ,” Jareth replies with a wink—that earns him a withering look. “I’m only doing what you ask, precious thing. I’ve only ever lived up to your… _expectations_.” His voice is low, his gaze alight with humor, and perhaps something stronger.

Sarah rolls her eyes— _why is he looking at me like that_? “It’s a figure of speech and you know it. Who’s the new king?”

Standing up, Jareth takes their plates and places them in the dishwasher. He pulls out an assorted box of chocolates and places them on the countertop. “Desserts aren’t my forte,” he says, changing the subject, “We’ll have to make do with these.”

It’s her turn to laugh. “Yeah, no thanks—I can’t afford to eat those.”

Jareth doesn’t say anything—instead, he picks up a dark chocolate piece with raspberry filling, and places it in his mouth. He closes his eyes, as if savoring the taste.

“I fucking hate you for that,” Sarah grumbles, reaching in to take a piece for herself. “Stop distracting me—tell me who he is.”

Looking into his wine glass, as if contemplating how much to reveal, Jareth finally responds with, “He happens to be my brother.”

Sarah raises her brows, not impressed. “A jealous brother who wants the throne for himself—angry that he was born next in line. Is his name, Mareth?” She laughs— _Mareth sounds ridiculous_! “Or Gareth? Or maybe Jaren?”

He watches her laugh—eyes darkening with an unnamed emotion. “None of those, precious thing. The story differs from the tale you’ve cooked up. My brother was first in line to the throne, but the High Court found him too unpredictable, dangerous… _cruel_.”

Sarah’s eyes widen. “Crueler than…” she can’t complete the thought, even as his unnerving eyes bore into hers, as if daring her to say it.

“Yours truly?” Jareth asks with a bitter laugh. “Oh, _Sarah_ , my darling precious girl, your feeble mortal mind cannot begin to comprehend the cruelty of which he’s capable.”

 _Feeble mortal mind_?! She seethes, as is about to give him a piece of her so called feeble mortal mind, when he raises a hand.

“I don’t mean that as an insult, so cool your temper, firebird,” Jareth teases, voice low and soothing. “After my exile, the High Court didn’t have a choice but to give him what he desired. The Goblin Kingdom requires a ruling monarch, and my brother happens to be the last of the bloodline.”

 _Firebird_?—she thinks— _that’s a first_. “This evil brother of yours—does he have a name?”

“Valen.”

 _Valen_ , she says the name in her head, and opens her mouth, “Va—” she’s cut off as Jareth pulls her close and places a long fingered hand over her mouth, the look in his eyes frightening enough to make her wince.

“Names have power, Sarah. Give me your word that you’ll never say his,” he hisses the words, furious that she’d almost called out his brother’s name. He knows it isn’t her fault—she’s mortal and unused to his rules. _Still_...had she called out to Valen, they’d both be dead within the next few minutes. If they were lucky.

Sarah nods, trembling in the face of his rage—the look on his face had been terrifying.

 “Swear it.” Jareth releases her mouth, eyes intensely intent on hers, his fingers lingering by her lips.

Sarah’s heart starts hammering in her chest, her breaths come out faster as adrenaline pumps through her system. She nods slowly—“I swear.”  

He relaxes his shoulders, tilting his head as he studies her. “Your lips are purple,” he observes, an index finger tracing her lower lip. He leans into her, breathing in her scent.

 _He’s close_ — _too close_. Close enough that her body’s on hyper alert—close enough that she can feel his breath on her neck. _Yet_ Sarah can’t tear her eyes away from his hypnotic gaze—it’s as if he has some kind of hold on her.

Swallowing before she speaks, she says, “That happens to me with red wine.” _Is he leaning closer? Why’s he looking at my lips…is he going to kiss me?_ The thought makes her heart skip a beat.

Jareth’s lips ghost over Sarah’s as he takes a tendril of her hair and tucks it behind her ear. Just as their lips are about to touch, he turns away and places his mouth to her ear. “Get some rest, precious.”

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must include some ANs—but have to think of something noncontroversial with ‘universal’ appeal. Sigh. First things first—Dark Court drafts for the next few chapters are done. Should start posting soon.
> 
> Cats hate travelling, don’t they? All the cats I’ve ever had hated their carriers. Getting them in meant getting scratched and bloodied like crazy. Cute little monsters.
> 
> Let’s see—the cooking scene was tough to write as I haven’t cooked in…7 years now…not that I ever truly cooked before that. Do you stir fry stuff on a skillet? Or do you use one of those ceramic frying pan things?
> 
> After our disastrous first date, H and I didn’t date for a while, but we did hang out. I ran into him at Safeway once—his cart had real food like bread, chicken, and fruits and vegetables—and my basket had a whole bunch of lean cuisines, frozen yogurt, and as many diet coke cans as I could carry. He invited me for dinner after that. Not as a date, but b/c he thought ‘this girl needs food.’ He also thought I was kinda nuts.


	4. Dreams and Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Note: This story isn’t going up on ffnet. My inbox is too jumbled and I just cannot deal with that site.

 

\--

He stares out into the distance, the view from his room is spectacular. Freshly falling snow blankets the mountains in a sea of white—the sight eases his thoughts a little. He’d been so close to entangling his fingers into her hair and kissing her…of course, he’d wanted to do _much more_ than that.

He closes his eyes—if he concentrates enough, he can hear her breathing—the steady beat of her heart as she lies asleep in a pair of… _interesting_ …shorts and a camisole. He’d caught a glimpse of her when she’d come out of her room for a glass of water, and he hadn’t been able to stop her image from infiltrating his mind.

 _Ten years_ —he thinks, a brittle smile on his thin lips, eyes lost in memories—ten _fucking_ years and she still has this effect on him. Seven years of living in the Aboveground—seven _fucking_ years of keeping his distance. Yet… _Yet_ , she still holds great deal of power over him. Moreover, the confusion in her eyes tells him that she hasn’t a goddamned clue, and that makes him all the more furious.

_Sarah._

_Sarah._

_Sarah._

The name plays over and over in his head, lulling him into troubled sleep.

\--

_Where the hell is she?_

_He searches for her, surrounded by tall walls with overgrown ivy—she’s here, isn’t she? She has to be._

_“Sarah!” He screams her name. “Stop running from me, I have to get you to safety.”_

_He hears amused laughter and turns around—steadying his back against the ivy covered wall as he sighs in relief. He’s found her, at last. “We have to get out of here.”_

_“How do you know my name?” She questions him with a dazzling smile, eyes bright. “Do I know you?”_

_Holding her by the shoulders, he shakes her roughly. “Of course you do—I’m Jareth, the Goblin King.” Your Goblin King, he adds in his head. “We have to leave.”_

_She laughs again—the same, musical voice. “Don’t be silly, Jareth—I can’t leave. I’m looking for someone.” Skillfully maneuvering herself out of his grasp, she runs into the tangled depths of the twisted maze._

_“Sarah!” He screams her name once again, chasing after her as she runs from him. “Stop.”_

_She runs—as fast as her legs can carry her—she runs until she sees a male figure at the very center of the Labyrinth._

_“I’ve been looking for you,” she says, her eyes glazed—as if she’s been hypnotized._

_Jareth is frantic with panic when he reaches her. “Sarah, get away from him!” He tries taking a step forward, but he finds himself frozen—a strong wave of magic renders him immobile and mute._

_The male figure moves into the light—his hair is as white as snow—eyes pale but uniform, unlike Jareth’s. He’s taller, perhaps, and broader—his face less sharp. He’s more traditionally handsome, in the mortal sense._

_“You’ve come at last,” the man croons, cradling the mortal in his arms. “I’ve waited long enough.” His eyes find Jareth’s and a slow smirk stretches his lips._

_She gazes at him longingly, mesmerized. “I’m here now.”_

_He strokes her cheek with gloved fingers before grasping her by the hair and crushing his mouth against hers—his eyes still intent on Jareth’s. When he lets go, there’s blood on his lips. “The taste of you threatens to drive me insane.”_

_She leans against him, her back resting on his chest, as he kisses her throat—moaning as she feels him bite the flesh above her beating pulse._

_Screaming—that’s all Jareth hears as he sees him touching her. She’s dressed in a simple white chemise—one that clings to her frame._

_The man laughs. “How does it feel, being so powerless, brother?” He traces his fingers around her nipple, eliciting a gasp. “Shall I make you…watch?”_

_The screaming in Jareth’s mind grows louder with each passing second. He can’t do anything but watch helplessly…powerlessly._

_Valen smiles coldly as his hand creeps up the mortal’s flimsy dress. “Shall I make you say my name, precious thing?” He uses his brother’s nickname for her, toying with him. “Shall I persuade you to call out for me as I watch you go over the edge?” His fingers inch up her thighs. “Go on, then. Say it.”_

_A piercing scream fills the air as she tries saying his name…somehow, she can’t. “V…” she begins. “Va-” she screams once more—her head feels like it’s breaking into two pieces. “I can’t.”_

_Valen eyes his brother, his smile turning more depraved. “You’ve made her swear an oath, Jareth? Remarkably foolish of you—all I have to do is use a bit of persuasion and she’ll go insane. Her mortal mind will split into two warring factions.” His gaze flits back to Sarah, “won’t you call out for me, precious?”_

_Jareth can only watch in horror as Valen kisses her, muffling her screams of agony. In a flash, both of them disappear, leaving Jareth by himself. He scrambles to the spot where they’d been, trying to find a sign of where Valen had taken her._

_“Sarah!”_

_He screams…and screams…and screams._

_But she does not return._

\--

Sarah sits on his bed, her movements tentative—placing a hand on his shoulder, she shakes him, gently. “Jareth, wake up, you’re dreaming—” she yelps when he sits up abruptly, almost knocking her over. “Jareth!”

“Sarah?” Jareth looks at her, dual eyes wide with fear. His chest heaves, and his pulse beats frantically as he takes in his surroundings.

“Yep. Sarah. The same one you’re sort of rescuing at the moment…I _hope_ ,” she laughs weakly— _lame joke, Williams_. “Anyways, you were—” she doesn’t complete the thought as he pulls her into his arms and crushes her face against his chest. She sits frozen as he kisses the top of her head, murmuring ‘you’re safe.’

 _Oh my God, what is he doing_?! His chest feels warm— _wait a second, is he naked_?! Blood creeps up Sarah’s face when she realizes that the Goblin King sleeps au naturel—she tries squirming away. “It was a dream,” she mumbles.

Forcing himself to calm down, he lets go of her when she pulls away. He composes himself before looking her in the eye. “Sorry to have disturbed you, precious,” he says, face impassive, voice cold. “You may return to your chambers.”

She frowns—a flash of a second and he turns into ice! _Moody bastard_. “Chambers?”

Jareth smirks. “Yes, chambers. _Room_ , to use a simpler term, one _you_ understand…I hope.” His voice is sarcastic, pace slow—as if he’s speaking to a simpleton.

Sarah stands up and glares at him. “You don’t have to be such an ass, Jareth.” That’s all she says before whirling around and leaving.

\--

By the time and wakes up and showers, it’s already 11 in the morning. Like the night before, she can smell some delicious food being prepared in the kitchen. Miss Elizabeth Bennet rubs her face against the closed door and meows loudly, indicating she wants to explore the rest of the place.

Sarah sighs. “I don’t think Jareth would be very happy with you running around his pristine house, Lizzie.”

The mangy cat looks up with the biggest eyes and saddest face in the world, and meows every so softly.

Sarah sighs once more—damned cat knows how to blackmail her well. “I guess he’ll live,” she says, smirking to herself and opening the door. Miss Elizabeth Bennet takes the opportunity to zip out, going God knows where.

\--

“I see you’re finally up, princess,” Jareth says, amused when he sees her greet him with a glare. “Breakfast?”

She sits at the island counter, eyes fixed on a guitar that’s leaning against the wall. “So…you play the guitar?” she asks. A former Goblin King who cooks and plays an instrument—strange, indeed.

Jareth gives her a jaded look. “Considering that you’ve seen one here, yes—one would assume I play the guitar.”

Sarah bites her tongue—looking towards the breakfast he’s laid out instead, trying to figure out what is it that smells so delicious. “Eggs Florentine? You fucking know how to make Eggs Florentine?”

A wide grin. “Seeing as to how I’ve laid out breakfast…” he lets the thought drift off.

Rolling her eyes, Sarah retorts, “I was just making an observation, Jareth. Like I said last night, you don’t have to be such an ass.”

Jareth sobers up, eyes narrowing as she mentions the night before. She’d seen him at his weakest—the thought makes anger flare up his chest. “Excuse me.” That’s all he says before standing up and clearing his plate—he takes his guitar to the sitting room and lounges on a sectional couch.

Sarah smiles at his temper—she’s not one to be easily deterred. Grabbing her plate and utensils, she walks behind him and sits on an adjoining couch. “You don’t have a TV, or internet, or cell reception. I’m not going to allow you to ignore me, Your Majesty.”

With deft fingers, he tunes the guitar strings and plays a slow melody. “I couldn’t help but notice the letters NYU written across your pants, precious thing.” His eyes are intent on the guitar, but his tone is teasing.

“So you were staring at my ass?” Sarah asks, a grin on her face. She’s wearing an old pair of sweatpants—ones she’d bought when ‘ass logos’ were all the rage.

He looks up. “Your Alma Mater, I suppose?”

“Yep.”

“And you choose to honor the institution by wearing the initials on your… _ass_ …as you say?”

Her grin widens. “It’s only sweat pants, Jareth—and blame Juicy Couture for the ass trend. They started it,” she says between mouthfuls of Eggs Florentine…and toast. She takes a big gulp of orange juice.

Jareth stares at the woman before him, half appalled, half amused by her terrible dining manners. “Take your time, precious, your breakfast isn’t running away.”

Heat rises up her neck. “I’m hungry,” she protests, before putting the plate on a side table.

Jareth frowns, noticing half the contents of her plate remain uneaten. “I didn’t mean for you to stop eating.”

“How’d you learn how to cook anyway?” she asks, changing the subject.

A bitter smile. “An exiled monarch finds that he has a vast amount of time on his hands.” He returns to playing a slow, haunting melody on the guitar.

Sarah raises a brow— _geez, he doesn’t have to be so damned sensitive_. She decides to push a little, hoping he’ll humor her with the truth. “It has something to do with me, doesn’t it…? Your exile, I mean.”

Jareth stops playing abruptly and looks at her, eyes intense enough to make her shiver. “What makes you say that?”

_Crap, Williams—he looks like a leopard waiting to pounce on something._

“I figured it’s why you’re pissed off with me all the time,” she blurts out the truth—she’s never been one to hide her emotions…not well, in any case.

Releasing a harsh sigh, Jareth shakes his head. The smile on his face is brittle—as is his voice. “I’m not pissed off with you, precious thing. At least, I don’t mean to be. Whatever occurred isn’t your fault.”

_Whatever occurred? What the hell does ‘whatever’ mean? Why does the bastard choose such cryptic language!?_

“Because I won?” she asks, eyes wide as she peers into his—curious.

Jareth loses himself in her gaze for a few moments before shaking himself out of her lure. “Something like that.”

Sarah shrugs. “I _want_ to say I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I just… _can’t_. I had to get Tobes back.”

He can’t help but smile at her sincerity, his eyes focus on his fingers as he goes back to playing the guitar—a faster tune, this time. “As I said, not your fault.”

 _Damn, he plays well_ —she thinks to herself. “So…” not one to shut up and enjoy the silence, Sarah tries making polite conversation. “You’ve been in New York for ten years?”

“Seven. I was put on trial for three years prior to that.”

She gapes. “That long? Were you still the Goblin King at the time?”

He laughs, his pale eyes lighten with humor. “No, naïve girl, I was delegated to my own dungeons,” he smiles at her shocked expression. “All dungeons have royal quarters, ones specifically meant to house deposed monarchs or high ranking nobility—it wasn’t completely terrible.”

 _Oh_. “A socioeconomic class system for jails…?”

“I suppose.”

Unfortunately, her curiosity isn’t sated. “What did you do when you first… _moved_ …above?”

He suppresses a laugh at her choice in wording—it’s fairly evident that she’s doing her best to avoid the term exile. “When I first arrived, precious…I came to see you.” His gaze is piercing, his words deceivingly quiet.

To say she’s surprised is an understatement—her jaw drops open. “ _Me_? When? Why didn’t you say something?”

His gaze turns more intense, the lines on his face as sharp as ever. “I came to your house…your father’s house rather…and I saw you,” he pauses for a few seconds. “You were in a dress holding onto a _boy_. Your stepmother was taking pictures—your father was glaring at everyone. _You_ …you looked so happy. Childhood innocence slowly morphing into…something else.”

His words are tender, but his voice is not—the sheer harshness of it makes her wince. “You came for revenge?”

He looks away. “I suppose—I was very angry for a long, long time.”

The atmosphere grows tense as neither speak for a while. Sarah chews her fingernails nervously before giving herself a mental smack. It’d taken years to finally kick the habit of biting her nails—she doesn’t want to start that again.

“So…” she begins, desperate to break the silence. “I guess the gloriously rough fucking sessions with Helios helped with anger management, huh?” _Ugh—Williams—stop talking!_

Jareth grins. “Your sense of humor is refreshing, precious thing. As stated previously, an exiled monarch has a lot of time on his hands. Learning conversational Mandarin also helped.”

 _Conversational Mandarin?!_ “Must have been a ton of free time, then—I heard it’s pretty much the most difficult language to learn.”

Jareth leans back, his movements languid. He throws a leg over an armrest—the other leg stretched out on the sectional. With his wild hair framing his angled face, he looks every bit of the haughty Goblin King he once was. His eyes glitter as he notices her catch her breath. “Enough about _me_ , Sarah,” he drawls. “What have _you_ been up to?”

She stills, taking in his sudden change in demeanor—he’s looking at her with gleaming eyes, head tilted as if he’s waiting for her to spill her deepest secrets. “Um, the usual…not all of us are exiled monarchs, you know? Our lives are way less interesting.”

A slow smirk. “No rough fucking sessions then?”

_Did he say that?! Did he just fucking say that?! Had his voice lowered an octave?!_

She notices him then, _truly_ notices him for the first time since he’d knocked on her door the day before. He wears a tailored white shirt, pressed to perfection, a few buttons open at the neck. He wears tapered pants, not as tight as she’d seen them the last time they’d met, but well fitting. His shoes are casual loafers…the kind that scream designer shoes without any visible logos. His hair is more tousled than the day before, a silvery-gold shock falls over one eye. The knowing smirk on his cruel lips tells her that he’s caught her checking him out.

_Stop staring at him with your mouth wide open, Williams! And quit letting him get a rise out of you!_

She quickly closes her mouth shut, her face turning a brilliant shade of red. “No, I guess,” she says, swallowing to find her voice. “Though I’m not much for _really_ rough stuff…” Sarah faces quite a dilemma—her brain says ‘quit talking’ but her mouth does _not_ seem to shut up. “I mean, I _like_ rough- _ish_ sex once in a while, but pain for the sake of pain is not my thing. I kicked my dentist in the face once because I was terrified of the drill.” Fortunately, her mouth catches up with her brain and she shuts up after that.

A wide smile breaks out on Jareth’s face and he laughs long and hard—she’s precious indeed, he hasn’t laughed like this in _years_. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says between wheezes of laughter. Turning serious after a few moments, he looks at her with an appraising gaze. “What _are_ you into, precious?”

She raises her brows—she hadn’t expected _that_. “Nothing, at the moment.” _When had the conversation taken this turn?_

A laconic brow. “Nothing? Everybody’s into _something_.”

Sighing, she wonders how much of her personal life she should reveal. Then, she figures, what the hell—she’s stuck here in the frozen north, for who knows how long—may as well. “I’m recovering from a bad breakup. Like _really_ bad—tried dating, couldn’t do it. Tried fucking around with Tinder but was too afraid of syphilis and a host of other diseases. Not that I want to stigmatize STDs, but I’m a total hypochondriac and a germaphobe—I need to see a clean test before I trade bodily fluids with someone.”

She catches his interest with ‘bad breakup’ and the pain that’d flashed in her eyes, however briefly. “When was this?”

“We broke up, _well_ , he dumped me, about a year ago—I was really fucked up for a while after that,” she says, a small frown furrowing her brows. She doesn’t like being reminded of the miserable year she’s had. “Things have gotten better now…but then you showed up at my door, saying there’s a crazy magic man after me.”

“Define _fucked up_ , precious.” He speaks the words as a command and not a question. At her raised brow, he says, “I did humor your questions with answers, darling girl. Try and do the same, won’t you?” His voice is low, persuasive—a singsong quality to the words.

Pursing her lips before she speaks, she wonders why he’s so damned interested anyway. “I spiraled into depression until the whole thing turned into a serious depressive episode—the first time that’s _ever_ happened to me—apparently I’m _genetically susceptible_ to those things.” She says ‘genetically susceptible’ using air quotes, looking away from his unnerving eyes. “I’ve been happy and positive my entire life, and when depression hit, I didn’t know what to do. It’s taken months of therapy and prescription medication to become normal.”

His gaze hardens. “Why did this… _man_ …matter so much?”

She shrugs—the answer is simple enough. “I was in love with him…and when he decided I wasn’t good enough, it hurt like nothing else.”

A smile with a hint of malice. “Not _good_ enough,” he repeats, testing the words on his tongue. “Why not?”

Shivers run down her spine at the tone of his icy voice, the acuity of his penetrating gaze. _Is he angry about something?_ “He was a…perfectionist who believed in being the best version of himself. He wanted something similar in a girlfriend. Someone who always dressed perfectly, at the top of her career, impeccable makeup and grooming habits—someone who looked like she just stepped out of a magazine.” While being a contender for the Nobel Prize.

“And you were _obviously_ not this person.”

Sarah inhales sharply— _the bastard doesn’t have to be so goddamned blunt!_ Regardless, she agrees with him, and nods. “No. I was a 24-year-old who’d only made junior assistant line producer. And it took a hell of a lot of effort just looking the part. Not that I _don’t think_ I’m pretty or anything like that, I _know_ I look good—he wanted perfection.” She smiles at Jareth, in spite of the creeping sadness and anxiety that seeps into her heart. “Before you tell me that I’m _obviously not perfect_ —trust me, I _know_. He’s with an investment banker from Goldman who looks like a supermodel. She’d totally be your type.”

Eyes widening a fraction with emotion, Jareth stops himself from snapping at her. “Do not presume to know anything about me, precious.”

She rolls her eyes. “ _Saw-rrrry_ —I was just making conjectures based on Etel, Helios, and those women on the news.”

Jareth ignores her…conjectures. “What is his name?”

The words are so softly spoken, she barely hears them—but she does feel a sense of dread when she sees the look in his eyes. “Not important,” she says, remembering his speech about how names had power.

“I would very much like to know the name of the man who caused you harm, precious.” The smile on his face is lethal, but his voice is deceptively mild.

Sarah lets out a forced laugh. “I’m okay now—forget I said anything. Anyways, my therapist says it has less to do with him and more to do with my mother. Clichéd, I know, but makes sense in this case.”

His pale eyes flicker with curiosity. “Your mother?”

“It’s not _her_ fault either. She was an actress and I wanted to follow in her footsteps, so she thought she was helping by telling me how I could improve myself. She’d say ‘Sarah, don’t eat that, fat girls don’t get leading roles.’ Or ‘Sarah, you’re pretty, but not pretty enough to stand out like you should. Maybe if we tweaked your nose a little so that it’ll look less snubby and more angular.’ Or ‘Sarah you have to lose your baby fat, the camera will make your face look huge—you’ll be one of those fat-faced girls with a thin body.’” Sarah sighs, lost in her memories—this conversation is getting more and more depressing. “I know it’s not the _worst_ a parent can do, and I _don’t_ want to be one of those people who blames their problems on their mother, but I think her… _constructive criticism_ …left a deep mark.” She looks away, unable to stop a flood of emotions from wreaking havoc in her chest.

Jareth’s heart twinges at the look of despair on her face. “Precious…”

It’s the tenderness in his voice that breaks her—she looks up, horrified when tears stream down her face. _Dammit, Sarah—you’ve been in therapy for months. Get over it!_

“I am _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with my problems,” she says standing up abruptly, embarrassed that she’d told him all that.

“Have you made peace with your mother? Perhaps that would… _ease_ your concerns.”

It’s her turn to smile a bitter smile. “My mother’s dead.” Saying that, she turns around and heads to her bathroom.

He looks at the hastily retreating woman—fists clenched, eyes burning with a myriad of emotions. He shouldn’t have pushed her, but he’d been too curious. Morbidly so. His gaze turns to the half-full plate that sits on the side table. He puts certain pieces together—the restraint with which she eats. Silly, _silly_ girl.

And then he recalls her words. _His type_ —she’d said—as if she knows anything about his type. The irony makes him smile a bitter smile of his own.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarah’s PJs—imagine it’s a pair of shorts with Hello Kitty figures and a thin, strappy camisole. Sexy and cute. Jareth’s not all ‘zomg, legs, thighs’ because he’s not from Saudi Arabia or rural Utah or Amish. He’s seen legs before.
> 
> Also—wanted to write an insecure Sarah on my terms. Someone with deep-seated issues but not over the top in her reactions.
> 
> Some more noncontroversial things—Don’t You Forget About Me (aka the song from The Breakfast Club) is in almost every one of my playlists. Hmm…
> 
> What else? I’m a chocoholic. Last I visited my parents they were all ‘honey, we have all this organic chocolate from Whole Foods’ (they’re addicted to shopping at Whole Foods, and basically tearing money up and throwing it down the drain—that place is expensive) and I was all ‘but I want Hershey’s Kisses.’ You miss the basics when you live away, I’m all ‘Shoprite yay, Whole Foods boo.’
> 
> I’m addicted to diet coke (ah the sweet chemical taste of aspartame) and a host of instant noodles (tangy chemical taste of MSG)—all Thai brands mostly. Anytime I move to a new place, I hunt for a Thai or SE Asian grocery store.
> 
> When I travel, I love eating whatever’s local…for about three days…then I hit up a McDonalds or Hard Rock because I waver between being adventurous and craving what’s familiar. I hate the middle ground in pretty much everything.


	5. The Foolproof Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Note: This story isn’t going up on ffnet. My inbox is too jumbled and I just cannot deal with that site.

 

\--

Jareth tilts his head, studying her as she steps out of her room. Her eyes are slightly red, but she seems to be over her emotional episode. She’s wearing all the winter wear he’d ordered for her, looking like a polar bear. A polar bear he wouldn’t mind ravishing right this instant. “Going somewhere?”

“I need to go for a walk,” she replies, a flush covering her cheeks as she recalls her outburst. “Thanks for all the arctic gear,” she says, indicating her winter attire.

A slow smile. “My pleasure.”

“Um…” she begins, “I don’t know what came over me. Sorry to have gone into… _all that_.”

He doesn’t respond, knowing _exactly_ what had come over her. He’d used just a little bit of persuasion to get her to open up—to see if he could trust her. “Don’t wander too far,” he says after a few moments of silence.

\--

 _Don’t wander too far--! As if I’m a fucking moron_.

Sarah plods through the thick blanket of snow angrily, surprised to realize that it takes a lot of effort—it’s damned difficult! She figures, at the very least, that she’ll walk off all the calories from last night’s dinner. She also uses the opportunity to work off some steam—mostly anger towards herself. She should have kept her big fat mouth shut—instead, she’d used him as a sounding board.

_Ugh, Williams—very stupid. Exactly what a gorgeous man would love in a woman—someone who breaks down into tears of desperation and insecurity at the first chance. Wait a second—so fucking what? Why do you even care? It’s not like he seems to be…don’t even think of finishing the thought!_

Shaking herself out of her traitorous thoughts, she takes a look at her surroundings, breaking out into a wide smile—it’s fucking beautiful. The cloudless sky is a nice shade of pastel blue, the snow pristinely white—tall coniferous trees that envelope the mountains are covered with snow, a hint of green peeks out every now and then. Crystalized icicles form on low hanging branches, making the entire place look like an enchanted winter wonderland. She runs her gloved fingers against the icicles, inhaling sharply as they tumble downwards, one after the other.

With childlike glee she walks deeper into the shadow of trees, running her fingers against the icicles, watching them fall one by one. Just as she’s about to turn back around, she hears amused laughter and freezes.

“Why do mortals enjoy destroying nature’s harmony?” Comes a decidedly feminine voice, and it sounds too close for Sarah’s comfort.

Whirling around, Sarah can’t help but gape at the _woman…?_ before her. “You’re purple,” she blurts.

“Lavender, not purple.” The purple woman smiles—her teeth are sharp, sharper than Jareth’s. Her eyes glitter with predatory acuity.

 _Not a vegetarian then_ —Sarah surmises, taking a step back. “I guess I should get going…” she mumbles, heart thudding loudly in her chest as adrenaline pumps through her veins. She wonders if she should try screaming for Jareth—would he even hear her?

The woman smiles wider—eyes flickering with malicious amusement. “You could _try_ …”

Sarah swallows hard. Something tells her that should she run, this woman would catch up in an instant. “What do you—”

Sarah’s interrupted by another voice—a _familiar_ one this time. “Stand behind me, Sarah.” Correction. A very _pissed off_ familiar voice.

She turns to find Jareth standing next to her—his outfit the same as before. _Guess the cold doesn’t affect the bastard one bit._

Eyes flaring with anger when Sarah doesn’t respond, Jareth resists the urge to physically grab her and move her behind him. “ _Now_.”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Sarah does as he asks—eyes intent on the purple…oops, lavender woman. Her hair is cut short and falls in wisps around her Queenly head—her facial features are fine. So fine that they make her seem delicate and terrifying at the same time.

“Xyn.” Jareth says, a sharp smile on his face—gaze hard, face impassive.

“ _Jareth_.” Her voice is musical enough that it sounds as if she’s mocking him.

A laconic brow. “I would ask you how you found me, but I have a more… _pressing_ question. Were you a part of this _grand scheme_?” His words are bitterly sarcastic, his eyes piercingly harsh.

Xyn laughs. “You ask so a serious question so bluntly, Jareth. But no—I am not part of the High Court’s plan. Not that they have much of a plan, mind you—it was supposed to be a quick retrieval of the Labyrinth’s champion.”

Jareth’s shoulders loosen as some tension dissipates. “I am pleased. You’re one of the few High Court members that I like, Xyn—would have been a shame if I had to kill you.” Jareth’s tone is neutral, voice deceptively low, but there’s dark promise in his gaze. “What has made the Court so… _imprudent_ …that they dare touch my—”

“Your _what_ , Jareth?” Xyn cuts in, a laugh in her words. “You never claimed her for yourself—nor did you extend any protection over her. As one who consumed our fruit, she’s fair game for Valen’s hunt, you know that.”

_Claimed her for yourself?! Fruit?! Fair game?! Valen’s hunt?! What the fuck! Do these assholes expect her to stand here and listen to this bullshit?! Not fucking likely!_

“This is total bullshit!” Sarah exclaims, fists clenched. “I’m supposed to be hunted down like some sort of animal because I bit into a stupid fucking peach? What kind of bullshit logic is that?”

Sighing harshly, Jareth gives Sarah a penetrating look that says ‘shut up!’—among other things. He turns his attention back to Xyn, who eyes the silent exchange, thoroughly entertained.

“The fruit was mine, it held my magic. As such, she’s tied to _me_.” There’s an unmistakable shade of possessiveness in his tone.

Xyn shrugs. “Take it up with the High Court, Jareth, not with me.”

Looking at her with narrowed eyes, Jareth asks, “Why now?”

A wispy laugh. “He’s afraid of losing the Goblin throne as long as you are alive. In any case, I advise that you move from your little house here, Jareth—if I could track you down, so can his pet.” Saying that, she disappears into thin air, leaving an angry, sputtering Sarah behind.

“So this is all _your_ fault!” Sarah exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Jareth. “If you hadn’t given me the stupid peach, your psycho brother wouldn’t be able to hunt me down.” She’s about to go on a long, self-righteous rant when Jareth turns around, the look in his eyes frightening enough to make her take a step back.

Jareth grits his teeth, his temper hanging by a thread. “I asked you not to venture too far for a damned good reason. Yet you didn’t _listen_.”

 _Hold up! Is he trying to get out of the peach thing?!_ “I guess I didn’t realize how far I’d walked. But the peach—hey! What the hell are you doing?”

Without bothering to answer her, Jareth grabs a gloved hand and drags her with him as he walks towards the house.

“Jareth!” Sarah exclaims as she catches her breath. “I can’t keep up with you.”

Clearly, he doesn’t seem to notice, or he doesn’t seem to care, as he keeps dragging her along—his strides growing longer.

“Jareth,” Sarah screams, between breaths as Jareth pulls her back towards his house. He doesn’t glance towards her even once. “Stop.”

Jareth doesn’t slow down until they’re inside the house—only then does he release her hand.  

“What is wrong with you?!” Sarah yells, placing her hands on his chest and giving him a small shove. Bastard doesn’t move—as if he’s made from stone. “You can’t drag me around like some kind of Neanderthal!”

Baring his teeth, Jareth takes a step forward—satisfied when she takes a step back. _Good—let her be afraid._ Perhaps it’ll stop her from doing anything stupid. “This house is protected—from now on, you shall stay _in_ it.”

Sarah feels her face heat up—she seethes angrily. _Of all the fucking nerve--!_ “You can’t tell me what to do, Jareth,” she says, taking off her coat and gloves before placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him.

A low growl. “The hell I can’t,” Jareth responds, eyes ablaze with emotion. “Are you completely daft? Do you know the kinds of things my brother could do to you?”

“Let me guess? Something that’s a whole lot worse than placing me under house arrest,” she retorts sarcastically.

Miraculously, Jareth keeps himself from taking her by the shoulders and shaking her—damned mortal garners that particular reaction from him quite often. “I am, _rather generously_ , keeping you safe from dying a violent, _violent_ death, precious. I would be grateful if you didn’t act like a complete simpleton and ruin everything!”

 _Generously? Simpleton?_ Sarah clenches her fists. “You think I’m really stupid, don’t you?”

Jareth smirks. “Don’t ask questions that you wouldn’t like the answers to, Sarah.”

“Oh, fuck you, Jareth,” she says, getting even angrier as he laughs at the face of her rage. “I’m not some puppet you can drag around and use to your own advantage. Maybe it’s time you gave me some answers, Jareth—what’s so special about me?”

A laconic brow. “My, aren’t we full of ourselves today?”

Sarah growls at that—her blood runs hot as anger and adrenaline pumps through her veins. She takes a few steps towards him. “Why are you helping me? You haven’t even bothered saying hello all these years, yet here you are—don’t you think I find that suspicious? Or did you think I was truly naïve enough to ignore all those facts?”

Jareth smiles coldly as he looks at her through his silvery lashes. “ _Suspicious_ isn’t the word I’d use, precious. _Ironic_ , even _pathetic_ would be more apt.”

Placing her hands on her head, Sarah groans—part frustration, part fury—she keeps stepping forward, much to Jareth’s amusement. “What does that even fucking mean? Why can’t you just speak normally for once?”

“I’m not exactly normal, am I?” He replies—lips hovering over the sensitive skin of her ears.

Sarah almost jumps when she feels his hot breath fan her neck— _when had he gotten so damned close?_ She almost jumps again when she sees that he’s backed against the glass wall— _had she done that?_ Damn Jareth, he’s made her more furious than she’s ever been in all her life. She looks up—cursing herself as she does so—as his unnerving eyes bore into hers.

 _Why is he looking at you like that?!_ —asks an inquisitive voice in Sarah’s head _. Like what?!—_ asks another one. _Like he wants to eat you alive_. Unfortunately, that particular thought brings a series of rather scandalous images to the forefront of Sarah’s mind, turning her face the shade of a ripe tomato. A more useful voice steps in— _stop, blushing like a wilting Victorian flower and snap out of it, Williams!_

“Sarah?” Jareth asks when he sees her zone out.

“Um, sorry,” Sarah says, startled. “I was…” _having a conversation with myself_.

A slow smirk. “Whatever it is you’re doing—could you move just a little? I’d rather not be pinned to the wall.”

 _Gah! How embarrassing_.

“Sure,” Sarah mumbles, her face all the more crimson. “I didn’t mean to…” _back you up against the wall like some kind of rakish ravager from a bodice ripper romance. Shut it, Williams!_

Jareth laughs, low and rich. “Oh precious,” he croons, eyes alight with mirth. “I’ll leave you to these _mysterious_ thoughts that seem to render you speechless every so often.”

\--

_(The fancy kitchen in Jareth’s luxury cottage in the middle of nowhere, BC)…_

_Oh how the mighty have fallen_ —he thinks to himself, a self-deprecating smile etched on his angular face. His fingers grasp the spatula with a little more force than necessary as he recalls his exchange with Sarah. It had taken every bit of self-control not to take her in his arms and crush his mouth against hers when she’d backed him against the wall. She’d been so angry… _furious_ …her eyes had been wild, and posture feral. Jareth shifts uncomfortably as blood rushes to a certain part of his anatomy.

“So…you’re…uh…making dinner, _huh_?” Sarah asks as she steps into the kitchen for a glass of water. Still embarrassed about the earlier incident, she doesn’t quite look him in the eyes when she speaks.

Jareth looks up from the stove. “Obviously.”

 _Jackass_. “Are you almost done, I’m starving!” If he can be a jerk, then so can she. _Bring it on, GK_ —Sarah thinks with a wicked grin.

Raising his brows, Jareth wonders why she looks so pleased with herself. “Yes—I suggest offering to help if you’re starving in the future.”

“Right, sorry,” Sarah replies, not sounding sorry at all. “What’s that you’re making? Pasta?”

A harsh sigh. “Are you being deliberately obtuse?” He strains said pasta before mixing it with pesto sauce.

Sarah inhales the rich aroma of the pesto sauce, keeping herself from shoving Jareth out of the way and taking the entire bowl for herself. Damn, he cooks well. “I don’t know, Jareth— _am I_?”

Giving Sarah a jaded look that says ‘stop it,’ Jareth heads to the wine rack and picks out a bottle of red. Perhaps her lips will stain purple tonight …and perhaps he can help her erase it. “Do you promise to stop being so annoying if I give you some alcohol?”

Sarah laughs at that. “You can give it a shot—but I make no promises GK.”

An amused brow. “GK?” He unscrews the bottle smoothly and pours two glasses, handing her one.

“Yeah. Goblin King,” Sarah says matter-of-factly, as if it should be self-evident. She takes a large gulp of the wine—then she notices him give her a reproachful look. “What?”

“Let it breathe a little, Sarah—you have the manners of a mountain troll.” He laughs amusedly when she glares at him. “And your charming little acronym isn’t accurate as I am no longer the Goblin King.”

Sarah helps herself to a bowl of pasta, making sure she takes a slow first bite—she doesn’t want him comparing her to a mountain troll again. _Stupid bastard—why’d he have to make her so self-conscious all the time?_

“Mmmmmm,” she moans, throwing her head back in pleasure, “Fuck. _Jareth_.” She takes another bite, moaning loudly once more. She inhales deeply, savoring the taste as slowly as she can. “This is delicious.”

Jareth stares at her—amazed. “Glad you approve.” His voice is rough, eyes heavy with desire. His mind can’t help but wander elsewhere—if she’s this vocal about pasta, how would she react in bed. His bed…under him as he tortures her slowly with his—

“….Jareth”

Shaking himself out of his rather detailed reverie, Jareth pours himself another glass of wine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you just said.”

With a beaming smile, Sarah gives him a playful wink. “I said, the charming little acronym stands because you’ll _always_ be the Goblin King to _me_.”

Jareth feels a surge of emotion at her words. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t speak—he feels something sharp in his chest—his breath catches in his throat. _Who the hell is he trying to fool_? He may have stayed away for seven years, but the sheer depth of what he feels for this girl… _woman_ …is insurmountable. Perhaps it’s time he acknowledged his feelings instead of running from them.

“Uh…Jareth?” Sarah asks, getting a little freaked out that he’s been staring at her wordlessly for the last few seconds. “Ground control to Jareth…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice curter than he’d intended, eyes flashing with anger.

Sarah gasps at his fierce expression—he looks damn frightening when he’s pissed off. _Why the hell is he pissed off anyway?!_ “Okaaay, you’re moody, I get it,” she observes, hesitantly taking second helping—she stops herself from taking too much. “Have you…recharged your magic?”

Jareth’s face returns to its impeccable mask at the question. Looking at her intently, he conjures a feeble crystal and crushes it in his hands. “Not enough.”

“Oh…” she says, taking a large sip of wine. _Why is he staring at her like that?! Does the bastard never blink?!_ “So…you still working on the plan?”

Rich, mocking laughter. “The plan, my naïve mortal, is the same it’s always been,” he says, eyes glittering darkly. “We must kill him.”

Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—WHAT?!”

A slow, cruel smile. “The only solution is a fight to the death, precious. Hence, we must kill him.”

_We—what we? Has he gone insane?!_

Standing up abruptly, Sarah throws up her hands. “Are you crazy?” She breaks out into laughter—a hysterical edge to her voice. “It ain’t happening, buddy. I can’t kill a fucking spider, you think I can kill someone who’s even scarier than you?”

Jareth studies her outburst with a cool, collected gaze. “Well then you better _start_ , precious—you will if you value your life.”

Sarah gapes at him for a few seconds, her mouth open—“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Indubitably.”

She drains her glass of wine and pours herself another one—she keeps pouring wine into her glass until the ruby liquid reaches the brim, ignoring Jareth’s alarmed look. “Holy…fuck.”

“Holy fuck indeed,” Jareth agrees. “As for our next steps…pack your things and your filthy cat, we’ll head elsewhere come tomorrow morning.”

“You don’t have to insult my cat, you know,” Sarah says with a glare. “Where’re we going?”

Jareth doesn’t respond to the cat comment. “The coast.”

Sarah’s eyes light up. “The coast?” She thinks of sipping tender coconut water while lying down on a golden beach.

“Yes, we’ll head up north from the Sunshine Coast,” Jareth explains, wondering why she looks so dreamy. “You’ll get to experience the beautiful coastline of the Pacific Northwest.”

Rolling her eyes, Sarah glares at him once more. “You did that on purpose,” she grumbles, clearing her bowl and heading towards her room. “Night.”

“Oh and _Sarah_ ,” he calls, his voice as smooth as velvet.

She turns around. “Yes?”

“Xyn wasn’t wrong—if she could find me so easily, so can his pet. I suggest you sleep in my room tonight.”

\--

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: tricky, tricky Jareth.
> 
> You guys celebrate Valentine’s Day? I never have. My H and I went out last night with a friend—I had 3 dark lagers and a pulled pork taco.
> 
> There’s only about 3 or 4 chapters left of this story—writing a non-dark Jareth is so much easier. It’s been fun.
> 
> We like? We don’t like?
> 
>  


	6. The Bra Dilemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Note: This story isn’t going up on ffnet. My inbox is too jumbled and I just cannot deal with that site.

 

\--

_“Xyn wasn’t wrong—if she could find me so easily, so can his pet. I suggest you sleep in my room tonight.”_

Sarah’s mouth falls wide open. “Wha…” her voice dies out as she stares at him disbelievingly. “Wha…” her voice dies again and she coughs, _hard_.

Jareth sighs. “I’m going to assume you meant to ask ‘what do you mean?’” he asks rhetorically, a sardonic brow raised high. “I meant exactly what I said, precious—pack your things and come to my room once you’re done.”

“But…” Sarah’s voice dies out again, her eyes as wide as saucers. “But…”

Jareth’s eyebrow remains raised. “I’m going to assume you meant to ask ‘but where would I sleep?” He smirks as she nods her head. “I shall be generous and let you take my bed.”

\--

_Are you seriously doing this?! Seriously, seriously doing this?!_

_Doing what? It’s not such a big deal, Williams, don’t be such a prude!_

_Think of it as a sleepover. With Jareth. Who sleeps in the nude…so…a sleepover with naked Jareth?_

_Argh!!!_

Sarah spits into the sink furiously as she brushes her teeth. What the hell is she supposed to do now?!

 _Calm the fuck down, Williams_ —the sanest voice in her head pipes up. _Apart from a few intense looks, he hasn’t shown any interest in you. It’s not like he’s a horny somnophiliac who’ll jump you when you’re sleeping._

She washes her face and applies a generous helping of Clinique’s DDML before changing into her pajamas. This brings her to a whole new dilemma—a _really_ difficult one.

_Alright, Williams. To bra or not to bra. That is the question._

Sleeping in a bra is as uncomfortable as fuck, but going braless in a camisole with spaghetti straps…with a naked Jareth in the room? Sarah doesn’t know how she feels about that. She curses herself for not packing a few more t-shirts. With C cup breasts, she sort of lucked out in the boobs department—they’re sizeable enough, but not _so_ large that they’re uncomfortable and all over the place. Still—they’d _certainly_ be noticeable in a thin camisole.

_He might get a good look at your breasts—so what? Buck up, Williams, it’s not like he’s skeeved on you or anything… yet._

_Fuck off—he seems to go for the ITWBs, a club in which you do not belong, especially after eating all that creamy sauce and pasta for dinner._

_Ugh!!_

_But…there’s no one else around so he doesn’t have much of a choice…does he?_

The sanest of her voices scoffs at the rest— _he’s not some sex maniac on Viagra, who needs to get laid at all times. The worst he’ll do is make suggestive comments and leave it at that._ _You’re not his type, Williams—get it through your thick head._

Rolling her eyes at herself, she decides to listen to her ‘sane’ voice—he hasn’t tried anything and he probably won’t. She settles for wearing a short robe over her camisole, figuring she’ll take it off once she’s under the covers. _Problem solved_ —she thinks, walking towards Jareth’s bedroom at the other end of the hall.

_This is it._

She pushes the door open and jumps when she hears Jareth yell loudly right that instant. Her first instinct is that something’s wrong and Jareth’s in danger. Adrenaline kicks in and she charges into the room…

…only to laugh out loud at the sight before her.

\--

Jareth glares at the patchy feline, who stares back at him coolly. “Of all the places in this house, you had to sleep in my closet?”

Sarah can’t help but burst into giggles. “She can’t understand you, Jareth—she’s only a cat.”

“I’m fairly certain she’s a demon in disguise,” Jareth grumbles, turning his glare towards the feline’s owner. “All my shirts have cat fur on them.”

Forcing herself to swallow down another burst of giggles, Sarah responds with, “You can borrow my lint roller tomorrow.” A comment which earns her a bigger glare from the former goblin monarch, as if he’s appalled he has to do such a thing.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet, deciding she’s had enough of the two squabbling humans…well…one human and one humanoid, arrogantly turns her head and walks out of the room. Her tail raised high so that Jareth gets a good view of her rear.  

Jareth turns to Sarah angrily. “Why would anyone choose such an unattractive, raggedy creature?” he asks, curious. “Of all the cats in the world, you chose one with bald patches and a limp.”

Sarah sighs, this is a question she’s received more than once. “Some asshole abandoned a litter of kittens when it was snowing and she’s the only one who survived. Her fur never grew back and her paw healed funny. I thought no one would adopt her and she’d be the first in line to be put to sleep—and my heart broke. I just…” she stops as she sees Jareth smile knowingly. “What?”

“You just had to step in and rescue her, didn’t you?” Jareth laughs. “Ever the heroine.” He’d almost said ‘my heroine,’ but he’d caught himself in time. Her emotions are written across her face. It’s clear that she loves the demonic cat, and while the thought tugs at his heart strings, it also makes him inexplicably jealous.

“Lizzie’s pretty good at killing spiders and other creepy crawlies, so I’d say we’re even. I’ve never encountered a rat in my apartment, but I’m sure it’ll happen sooner or later, considering rats outnumber people 6 to 1 in New York.”

Jareth raises a bemused brow. “A mutually heroic relationship, then.” He goes back to folding his clothes meticulously before placing them in his suitcase.

“You’re super organized,” Sarah surmises, studying his mannerisms with furrowed eyebrows.

“I take it, you’re not impressed?” Jareth zips his suitcase and puts in the security code.

Sarah grins at him. “Means the probability of you being a serial killer is higher than I’d previously thought.”

Jareth rolls his eyes. “Good night, precious.” That’s all he says before shutting the light and heading to the bathroom to prepare for bed.

 _Now’s your chance!_ —Sarah takes off the robe and slips into the covers as quickly as she can. _Perfect_ —she thinks, cocooning herself with the heavy duvet. Fortunately, she falls asleep the second her head hits the pillow.

\--

Splashing cool water on his face, Jareth stares at his reflection on the mirror, long fingered hands gripping the counter. He smiles at himself grimly—it’s going to be one hell of a long, torturous night.

Sarah’d worn the same ridiculous shorts from the night before, which seemed to have images of a cartoon cat with a head as big as its body. She’d also worn a fleece robe that covered her up completely—she’d been particularly self-conscious. Jareth had never been able to read mortals well, save for their cowering in his presence right before they ran the Labyrinth, but _she_ is entirely too easy to read. He can read attraction, desire, in her eyes…apprehension, nervousness.

It’s becoming more and more difficult for him to keep his distance, and he wonders how long he can last. He’s never been one for delaying gratification, so why should he start now? It would be so very easy…his eyes darken as he thinks of waking her with a deep kiss…

_…his fingers in her hair…her body, flush against his. Would she respond right away…? Or would she be more hesitant…? Would she moan softly as he kissed the column down her throat…?_

Jareth groans at the mental image. As easy as it would be to seduce Sarah, he knows _exactly_ why he’s kept his distance. He doesn’t wish to hurt her, especially not after everything she’s been through the last year. And he knows too well that sooner or later, getting involved with him would most definitely hurt her.

\--

Making sure to be extra quiet, Jareth shuts the bathroom door, a smile forming on his face when he sees her fast asleep. Her robe lies on the floor, and it looks as if she’s kicked the duvet completely off of herself. One leg peeks out, her shorts riding up to the tops of her thighs—an arm casually thrown across the bed, palm facing upwards. His eyes inevitably follow the rise and fall of her breasts—he catches his breath. A nipple hardens and strains against the silky fabric, making him wonder what she’s dreaming about.

Jareth can’t help but draw closer like a moth to the flame. Everything he’d resolved to do in the bathroom gets thrown out the window _. Fuck it_ —he thinks—he’ll deal with the consequences later. For now, he wants to rip the flimsy camisole off her body and suckle on her flesh. The sudden rush of blood to his groin makes him painfully hard at the thought.

Just as Jareth is about to pounce, Sarah’s sixth sense kicks in and she opens her eyes—letting out a startled screech when she sees Jareth’s face looming close. “Jareth! What the hell are you doing?”

Jareth snaps out of his daze. _What the hell is he doing, indeed?_ He coughs, thankful that her eyes are fixed onto his, instead of the raging erection straining against his pants. “I was…” _ready to beg that you let me fuck you_ , “…never mind, are you alright?”

Sitting up, Sarah gives him a look that says ‘are you kidding me?’ “No, I’m not alright. You creeped me the fuck out! Who stares at someone when they’re sleeping?!” She pulls the duvet over herself, and up to her chin.

 _A lust crazed fool who’s been given an opportunity to seduce the very object of his obsession,_ and _somehow, still manages to fuck it up_ , Jareth answers in his head.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, precious,” he replies, and technically, he hadn’t—he’d meant to do something _else_ , entirely. “Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t go back to sleep, just like that!” Sarah exclaims, placing her hand over her chest, feeling her heart hammering against her ribcage. “You really freaked me out!”

“I apologize,” he says sharply, turning around. “I must finish some work. Tomorrow’s a long day and I suggest you catch up on rest.” That’s all he says before hurrying out of his room and shutting the door behind him.

Sarah gapes at the door, mouth open. _What the hell just happened?_ She shivers as she recalls the way his eyes had glittered when he’d leaned into her, he was breathing hard—his skin was flushed a pale shade of pink.

 _Good grief, Williams—maybe he is actually a sex crazed maniac on Viagra who needs to get laid all the time!_ She laughs at the thought. _Still_ …something about the way he’d looked at her afterwards…with a deep sense of longing, unnerves her. It’s not the look of a sex crazed maniac—it’s the look of someone in love.

 _Bahahahaha_ —all the voices in her mind laugh simultaneously. _Yeah right. You’ve lost your mind—go back to sleep._

\--

_(Small regional airport, somewhere in the mountains of BC)…_

Sarah spins on her heels and walks right back into the airport as soon as she sees the ‘aircraft’ that’s supposed to take them to wherever Jareth had in mind.

“Sarah!” Jareth hisses, catching up with her, extending an arm to grab hers in a vicelike grip. “Stop being a child.”

Sarah, however, doesn’t give a damn—she glares at him, her eyes blazing a bright shade of emerald. “There is no fucking way I’m getting in that,” she says—indicating the six seater, propeller plane that sits on the tarmac. “I white knuckle it on a 747, you think I can fly in _that_?”

Holding the defiant woman with both hands, Jareth tries shaking some sense into her. “The only other option is driving for more than 20 hours, Sarah—we don’t have that kind of time.” He says the words through gritted teeth, a low growl forming at the back of his throat.

“Um…excuse me, miss, is everything alright?” An elderly airport attendant asks Sarah, her eyes intent on Jareth’s grip. “Do you need any help?”

For one defiant second, Sarah hesitates—but she eventually shakes her head. “No, I’m just a really nervous flier.”

Jareth lets go of her shoulders and smiles charmingly at the old lady. “I apologize for causing any alarm, but my new secretary is from Kansas and has limited experience flying. I’m trying to convince her that it’s a perfectly safe mode of transportation.”

Sarah’s mouth drops open once again—this time, in anger _._

_His secretary?_

_His fucking secretary?_

_His mother fucking secretary?_

_Not only that—one with limited flying experience from Kansas!_

Fortunately, the anger melts some of the crippling fear she feels. “My lovely boss is mistaken,” she tells the elderly woman, “I’m from New York, not Kansas. And even frequent fliers get nervous when they have to fly in _that_.” She points at the tiny aircraft as she says this.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Have a safe flight,” the elderly attendant mutters quickly, walking away as she rolls her eyes. What a bunch of lunatics.

Sighing harshly, Jareth gives Sarah a pointed look. “Are you done acting like a clown?”

 _A clown?!_ Sarah gives him a grudging nod. “How long is the flight?”

“Going by the route they’ve given us today, two and a half hours.”

Taking in a sharp breath, Sarah wonders just _how_ she’s going to spend those two and a half hours cooped up in that tiny space. Miles above the ground. “Where’s the pilot?” she asks—thinking that perhaps it’s a formidable, middle aged man with military experience. She’d feel safe with one of those pilots.

Jareth grins as he looks at her, his sharp teeth gleaming in the sunlight. “Where indeed.”

_What. The. Fuck._

“You?” she says—mouth open once again. “You know how to fly a plane?”

A laconic brow. “A small one, yes. Any other questions?”

“So if we’re going to crash, can you poof us to safety?” Sarah blurts out—thinking that maybe having Jareth as the pilot would work to their advantage.

Jareth looks at her like she’s said something entirely too stupid. “No, precious. If I could poof us anywhere, we wouldn’t need to fly.”

“Oh…” Sarah mutters, face reddening. “Be prepared for a hysterical fit if we hit turbulence.” Her legs tremble noticeably as they walk towards the aircraft, making him realize the seriousness of her words.

“Perhaps I have a solution,” Jareth says smoothly, once he sits in the pilot’s seat. Reaching into a bag, he pulls out a bottle and hands it over.

“Tequila?” Sarah questions suspiciously—the contents of the bottle doesn’t resemble tequila, and she wonders if he’s given her some weird magic moonshine.

“Café Patron,” Jareth explains, buckling up—“Wear your seatbelt. It’s coffee flavored tequila—the last person I took to this place left it behind.”

“Oh…” _Who the hell drinks coffee flavored tequila_?—she thinks. But she wastes no time in opening the bottle and chugging down a deep gulp. “Yuck!”

Jareth laughs at the look of disgust on her face. “I take it you’re not a fan, but it’s the only option you have. If I were you, I’d take a few more gulps.” He’d much rather have a drunk passenger than a hysterical one.

Sarah glares at him in response, but she does as he asks—after all, what choice does she have?

“Alright precious, hold tight,” Jareth says with a grin as the propellers come to life, creating a deafening noise…a noise so deafening that it drowns Sarah’s screams as they take off.

\--

_(Two and a half hours later)…_

“So we’ve reached?” Sarah slurs as the aircraft comes to a halt. She laughs with abandon as if she’s heard the funniest joke in the world. “That was fast.” She frowns as she takes in their surroundings—“Do you have a fucking runway in your house?”

“It’s a landing strip, not a runway,” Jareth corrects as he takes the bottle of tequila from her. His eyebrows shoot up when he realizes she’s had a considerable amount—he sighs, noticing her struggle with her belt buckle…she’s _definitely_ had too much. “Allow me to help,” he says crisply, untying her from the jumbled mess she’d gotten herself into. “I’m going to step out first and help you, alright?”

She gives him a hazy smile. “Sure! You’re like soooooooooooo chivalrous, you know that?”

Holding out a hand, Jareth raises an amused brow. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.” He grimaces as she hits her head on her way out. “Be careful, precious—try not to give yourself a concussion.”

“OWWWW!” Sarah exclaims, rubbing her head—oblivious to the sarcasm in his voice. “Motherfucker—that hurts!”

At that, Jareth throws his head back and laughs. “Oh you _precious_ thing—you might just be the most entertaining thing I’ve ever come across.”

Sarah, more than a little tipsy, glares at him with her hands on her hips, her body swaying courtesy the considerable amount of tequila in her system. “I’m not a thing, Jareth,” she says indignantly—she stumbles as she tries walking. “Hey!”

Miss Elizabeth Bennet hisses from inside her carrier.

Chuckling at Sarah’s lack of balance, Jareth takes hold of the mangy cat’s carrier lest she drop it. With his other hand, he steadies her—“Lean on me, Sarah.”

“No!” Sarah says stubbornly, halting her steps. “I’m perfectly capable of walking, Jareth. Let go of me!”

Jareth grits his teeth, her antics beginning to annoy him. “I have no doubt of that, precious. Right now, however, you are inebriated enough that you cannot so much as stand straight without my help.”

Sarah stops fighting and lets him lead her into the house—which is much like the one before. It’s a small cottage with floor to ceiling, glass windows. The décor is something between minimal and western, with a modern kitchen. “I’m guessing this was designed by the same architect,” Sarah declares as he leads her to the guest room. She laughs again, as if she finds the whole thing hilarious.

“Sit,” Jareth says, indicating the bed—thankful when she does so without any argument. He places Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s carrier on the floor. “I’ll get your suitcases from the plane. Let me know if you need anything,” he says turning around—only to find her fast asleep.

 _Great_. That meant _he’d_ have to unpack the demonic cat’s things and set them up. How bloody wonderful. _The things I do for you, precious._

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: My parents are into Valentine’s Day—my dad used to get me a smaller version of what he got my mom. Lmao—my H finds that damn weird. He’s all ‘single children are fucked up’ and I’m all ‘you’re fucked up—you call your parents mummy and papa.’
> 
> I find that hilar—a grown man calling his parents mummy and papa—I told him he should blame the British for that. Forget colonial economic vampirism and virtual slavery, sue them for making you call your mom and dad ‘mummy and papa.’ [I’m kidding, of course]. But mummy and papa? Bahahaha.
> 
>  


	7. A Dangerous Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Note: I know I should update Dark Court – blame my H guys. Apparently wife = free labor. He’s promised to make us insanely rich (by my standards) soon—so may be worth it. Let’s see.

 

\--

The setting sun burns a bright shade of orange by the time Sarah wakes up, her head pounding—a solid reminder that tequila and coffee do not mix well. She looks for her suitcase, surprised to see all her clothes unpacked and placed properly in the closet. Hell, everything, including Lizzie’s food and water bowl, has been neatly laid out. All her bathroom toiletries have been unpacked and arranged. In a straight line, even.

 _Well. The Goblin King played housekeeper—a good one at that. Who’d have thought that that would be a possibility?_ —she thinks as she heads for a quick shower.

“Jareth?” She calls out as she steps out of the room in her pajamas and robe. She finds him in the living room, guitar in hand and an open notebook beside him. His dual eyes seem to be fixed on the roaring fire alight in the very modern looking fireplace. “Yo!”

Quirking up an amused brow, Jareth glances at the freshly showered mortal. “Yo…?” He half answers, half questions, dual eyes glinting. “How are you?”

“Okay, for the most part,” Sarah says with a grimace. “Head hurts a little. What’re you doing?” Curiosity gets the best of her and she strains her neck, trying to see what he’s been writing in his notebook.

Jareth tucks the notebook away. “It’s personal.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re a long suffering writer in addition to being a chef, small-aircraft pilot, and a sarcastic exiled ex-monarch,” she says with a snort, her curiosity growing bigger as she tries reading the writing on the cover—only to let out an aggravated huff when she realizes it’s a language she can’t read. Still, she reaches for the small leather-bound notebook, wondering why he’s so secretive.

“And _you_ are a curious, curious little cat, aren’t you?” He asks, voice suddenly low. The tone in which he says ‘cat’ implies something else entirely. He leans into her, just enough to make her wary.

“Erm,” Sarah stammers, moving away hastily and sitting on an overstuffed leather couch. “Keep it.”

Rich, mocking laughter reverberates around the room. “Not much of a fighter are you, Sarah?”

She glares him—eyes flashing with righteous anger. “You don’t exactly fight fair, Jareth.” Her glare sharpens when she sees him bare his teeth in a smile.

“You question _me_ on fairness, precious thing?” he asks, voice low and melodious—but his dual eyes are calculating.

 “No,” she replies unflinchingly—in spite of the sudden bout of fear she feels. “I’m not _questioning_ you on anything,” she says, stressing the word. “I’m stating it as a fact, Jareth—you don’t fight fairly.”

“And here I thought I was doing my best to keep you safe,” he says with a sharp, sharp smile. “Educate me on why you feel that way, precious.”

The command in his voice makes her frown, but she humors him nonetheless. “You’re keeping me safe because it benefits you to do so, Jareth.” She shakes her head when he tries interrupting, “…and don’t even bother with the whole lying thing. You told that old woman at the airport that I was your secretary from Kansas. How stupid do you think I am?”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowed coldly. “Are you done? Or do you have more concerns you wish to address?”

 _Not remotely buddy!_ —she thinks, getting angrier by the second. _Who does the bastard think he is anyway? What gives him the right to fuck with her life?_

“No, I’m not done,” she responds, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue at him when he rolls his eyes. “I have a million other questions. Like why have we switched locations from one part of the middle-of-nowhere frozen tundra to another part of the middle-of-nowhere frozen tundra? Why did you give me the fucking peach to begin with? What does your brother want with me—” she holds up a hand when Jareth begins to reply. “Don’t bother telling me that he wants to kill me—I’m beginning to understand that if he wanted me dead, I would be.”

A slow smile. “Very well, I will not. Any more concerns, precious?”

_Ugh—of all the aggravating, condescending, smug smiles!_

If she were in her right frame of mind, Sarah Williams probably wouldn’t have asked the next question. Probably. In any case, the former Goblin Monarch has aggravated her to a point of temporary insanity…hence, the next question.

Sarah’s eyes burn liquid emerald. “Why’d you almost kiss me the first night?”

Just as she says the words, her face turns cherry red—but her pride stops her from turning away. Instead, she glares at the even smugger former Goblin King, with her hands on her hips.

Jareth remains quiet for an excruciating few seconds, his thin lips curling upwards into smile—one that’s as derisive as it is amused. “Well…precious…you seem to have many queries. No wonder you’re so… _tense_.”

This time, she doesn’t rise to the bait. “So are you going to answer them or what?”

He’s almost tempted to ask ‘or what,’ but the murderous gleam in her eyes stops him. “Allow me to first address your concern about lying—I never told the woman that you were my secretary from Kansas. Just that my secretary from Kansas was wary of flying.”

She gapes at him. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Perfectly fucking serious, precious,” he answers with a grin that would put the Cheshire cat to shame. “For the record, I, or Jareth Williams, I suppose—has a secretary from Kansas who is, in fact, afraid of flying. She’s not here at the moment…I think Merin may just sack her, come to think of it.”

A million new questions swarm through Sarah’s head, the first being—“Jareth Williams?”

Jareth’s grin goes from Cheshire cat to full blown, Mad Hatter. “Yes. Since I was exiled for allowing you to win, I thought you could repay me by giving me your name. Poetic, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” she says with a thunderous expression. “The lying thing is utter bullshit—you can bend the truth any way you wish.”

“I suppose,” he says, a finger to his lips, not the least bit concerned. “After all, deception is an art, haven’t you heard?”

“Go fuck yourself, Jareth,” she says, standing up abruptly to stomp away.

“Wait,” he drawls, his movements fluid—he reaches her in a few long strides. A long fingered hand reaches out and wraps itself around her wrist. “Don’t leave…not yet.”

Her pulse jumps from zero to a hundred the second his naked fingers touch the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. She can feel him behind her, his heat—the heady scent of citrus and leather that must be his cologne.

“What?” she asks, not turning around—pulling away just a little—increasing the space between them.

_This isn’t normal, Williams! One touch to the wrist and you’re melting around the smug bastard—not fucking normal!_

He eyes the internal battle in her body language with mild amusement. “We moved from the mountains to the ocean because of magic—there are different kinds of magical sources—most of them nature oriented. I’ve situated two of my cabins,” he rolls his eyes when she snorts at ‘cabins.’ “… _cabins_ ,” he repeats, “in the most appropriate locations. They’re both isolated and rife with magic. As for the peach…”

She can’t help but whirl around when he mentions the peach—eyes wide in question. “Why would you do something like that knowing how it’d affect me?”

“I was foolish.”

“More like selfish,” she says with a scoff—to her surprise, he nods in agreement.

“Yes, _that_ as well.” He looks away for a few moments. “I suppose I wished for you to stay.”

Her eyebrows shoot up—the fear in her eyes is tangible. “You wanted me to stay in your made up ballroom forever?”

“No.” His stare is intense enough to make goosebumps rise on her flesh—his voice harsh enough to make her flinch.

“Then why?”

Jareth laughs—a full throated sound. “Let’s go with ‘I was foolish’ Sarah—and believe me, I _was_. Moving onto your next concern, I truly do not know. I don’t believe he’d hand you to the High Court—he wouldn’t want to lose the power. I doubt he’d make you his consort…his pet would certainly have a problem with that.”

Sarah frowns. “So what does that leave?”

“He’d want you to cooperate with his plans to rise in the High Court—whatever that involves could be anything from handing him access to the Labyrinth to being his mistress.”

“What?!” Sarah’s jaw drops open. “His mistress?”

“Whatever _role_ he has in mind…it is prudent to surmise that he’d want you by his side…as close to him as possible. It’s the only way to maximize his power over you.”

Cold shivers run down Sarah’s spine as she contemplates her fate at Valen’s hands. “What makes him think I’d cooperate with any of that?”

Jareth gives her a disbelieving look. “Come now, precious—you can’t be this naïve if you wish to survive. He’d coerce you into cooperating. Physical torture, mental torture, harming those close to you, threatening to kill your brother slowly. Those are the very basic methods he’d use—no doubt he’s more creative in his ways.”

Breath hitching in her throat, Sarah looks at Jareth wordlessly, lips parted in shock—fear pools in her gut. _He could do all that?_

An icy smile. “I see you’re beginning to understand your situation, precious.”

“But I thought there were rules against harming my family,” she says, voice trembling with fear.

“Oh, my precious, naïve mortal, he’d eventually find ways around that. Especially when he has enough power to openly defy the High Court.” Jareth’s eyes turn dark. “As for your last question…” he closes the distance between then in one graceful stride—one hand reaches to hold the back of her neck, the other snakes around her waist. He lowers his head so that his lips graze her ear, eliciting a shiver. “Because I wanted to.”

Sarah sputters with anger as words escape her. “What a simplistic answer Jareth—if you think I’m going to—”

He ghosts a finger over her lips—a satisfied smirk on his lips as she stops talking. “I wanted to kiss you for a very long time, precious…it’s been…the appropriate word would be _torturous_. I still do.”

 _What in the actual fuck, Williams! He wants to kiss you?!_ —a voice in her head asks. _Stop drooling like an idiot and think, Williams_ — another, more ~~skeptical~~ reasonable, voice ~~barges~~ joins into the conversation. _If he’s wanted to kiss you for a long time…why hasn’t he?_

“Hardy har, Jareth,” she says with as much sarcasm as she can muster. “You haven’t so much as talked to me for the last ten years—you really expect me to believe that you’ve been secretly pining away for my kiss?”

“Yes,” he says, simply, lips curving up. “I expect you to believe exactly that.”

Huffing out a breath—part disbelief, part anger—Sarah throws her hands up. _Give him hell, Williams—_ her mind rages _—he clearly thinks you’re a moron!_ In all her outrage, she doesn’t notice him move closer, effectively trapping her against a glass wall. “Go to hell, Jareth,” she hisses ferociously enough to make Miss Elizabeth proud. “Take your bullshit and shove it up—mmmmmf!”

Jareth silences her—clamping his hand against her mouth. “Can you be quiet for once, Sarah?”

_Be quiet? For once? I’ll show the bastard!_

She glares daggers at him, getting more incensed as his eyes dance with laughter. She nods—indicating her concession.

Unfortunately, Jareth finds himself at a loss for words.

“I’m waiting,” she states, imitating his air of impatience.

It’s the Goblin King, _former_ Goblin King’s rather, turn to glare at his old nemesis. He runs a slim hand through his unruly hair. “I was drawn to you the second you called out to me, long before you said the words,” he raises a hand when she starts. “Stop interrupting, precious. You called out to me while repeating meaningless lines in the park, day after day…and I couldn’t stay away. I told myself you were mortal—that you were a _child_ —but none of that deterred me.” He looks away when he sees her eyes widen in surprise.

“You…watched…me practice…” _Oh lord, how embarrassing. Buck up, Williams—he should be more embarrassed—you were a kid._

Jareth catches her eyes—gaze intense. “I thought to rid myself of the…obsession, but you used the right words and wished your brother away.”

_Why’s he looking at me like that? Why’s he so close? Argh—breathe—Williams!_

“You didn’t have to take Toby, you know. Could have ignored it.”

The lines on Jareth’s face rearrange—he is all sharpness and angles. “Once the words are said, I am obligated to take the child, Sarah. Had it been up to me, I wouldn’t have allowed you to set a single foot into the Labyrinth.”

_Oh…_

She looks away—his words hurt her more than she cares to admit. “So what’s the point of this conversation? For you to tell me that you want to…kiss…me against your better judgment?”

“The point?” His eyes turn dark, his voice seductively low.

_Er…did he just get super creepy, or what? How the heck did I end up against the wall? And how the hell do I get out?_

He laughs, slow and throaty—the sound a mélange of arrogance and dominance—and bares his wolfish teeth. “The _point_ …she asks,” he murmurs. His eyes turn darker still, both pupils dilated—gleaming in the twilight.

Laughing nervously, Sarah shakes her head. “Never mind,” she says with forced cheer. _The point is, he’s crazy_ —she thinks— _and I just poked crazy with a stick_. “Forget I said anything…if you could move just a little, I’ll get out of your space and leave you with your secret notebook…” she struggles as his arms cage her against the wall, unmoving. “…seriously, if you could move just a _tiny_ bit…”

_Dammit, Williams!_

He’s too close…close enough that he can hear her heart hammer away in her chest. Close enough that he feels her pulse race. The smile on Jareth’s face turns predatory…very _triumphantly_ predatory…like a lion who’s spotted the exact gazelle he wishes to devour for lunch.

_Oh, precious mortal, you’re not going anywhere._

Jareth tsks slowly, mockingly, when she halfheartedly struggles to break free. “Don’t be rude, Sarah—allow me to complete my story,” he lilts.

He’s close enough that she can feel his breath fan her face. “Okay, but be quick. I’m totally starving,” she diverts, hoping to break the tension.

Unfortunately…she realizes a little too late that _that_ was the wrong thing to say.

“What a coincidence, precious thing. So am I.”

With those words, Jareth throws years of carefully cultivated self-control out of the window, and crushes his mouth against hers in a hungry kiss.

_What the fuck is happening?! I’m kissing the Goblin King—technically, he’s kissing me! Shove him away, Williams! Don’t you dare push him away, pull him closer!_

Sarah gasps, eyes half shut, when she feels the tip of his tongue trace her lower lip—the warring voices in her head shut up as she tilts her head and opens her mouth, her arms automatically circling around his neck. He touches his tongue to hers in an erotically slow caress, and kisses her with languid strokes.

She yelps as she feels herself pressed further onto the glass, his body flush against hers. His hips thrust against hers—she feels him hard and ready, seeking her warmth. Liquid heat gathers between her legs as her body seeks his—her hips buck against him and a low throbbing pulses through her core.

With a groan, Jareth pulls himself away—not wanting to scare her away by moving too fast. He holds her shoulders with his hands and touches his forehead to hers. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since you opened the door to your miniscule apartment.” His voice is rough, hooded eyes hazy with lust and something more.

A number of thoughts run through Sarah’s head—the first being— _did he just kiss me silly and then insult my apartment?!_

“Why _didn’t_ you?” she demands, eyebrows raised in question. “You don’t seem like the type to delay gratification.”

He wheezes out a breathless laugh, raging desire still coursing through his veins. “I’m not. I didn’t wish to take advantage of you, in all your…naivety.”

_Advantage? Naivety?_

Sarah’s eyebrows shoot up to comical heights. “Really? _Naivety_? Poor Sarah, she’s so naïve she might melt into a puddle of emotions if I kiss her.” Anger blazes in her chest, the more she thinks over his words.

“That’s not what I meant, precious,” he says, irritated—damned mortal is looking for a fight. He refuses to give her one.

She laughs derisively. “You thought one kiss would make me fall head-over-heels in love with you? That I’d cry a thousand tears once you eventually left to continue your rough-fucking-sessions with ITWBs? Give me a fucking break.” Her face turns grim when she notices acknowledgement in his eyes. So _that’s_ what he believes. Fuck that. “Well…allow me to prove you _wrong_ , GK…now if you’d be so kind as to let go of me, I can grab some food from the kitchen.”

“Sarah,” he all but growls, anger getting the best of him. “You can’t simplify a complex situation, come up with your own conclusions, and lose your temper in the process.”

“Ha-ha, watch me,” she deadpans with a shrug. “You win—boo hoo, you’ve broken my heart. I’m now going to stuff my face…once you _let go of me_.”

A hard glare. “No.”

“No? What do you mean, no? You can’t hold me against the wall forever!”

Jareth smiles a pointy smile and says, “Watch me.”

“Very mature,” she responds with narrowed eyes.

He ignores her jibe. “Just fucking listen to me, dammit!”

She stills when she hears him swear— _crap. I guess I bring out the best in him._

“As I was saying, I… _struggled_ …to let you leave. And I struggled to keep away from you these last seven years.” His voice becomes lower and his eyes burn into hers. “I refuse to hold myself back any longer.”

Before Sarah can ask what the fuck that means, he lowers his lips to hers—this time, his kiss isn’t hungry—it’s desperate and fiercely possessive.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha. Perfect place to stop. Things to consider—did J want S to stay back with him because he ‘wuved’ her—or was it something else? What are his motivations in helping S? What does he get out of it? This isn’t a dark J by any means—but he sure as hell ain’t a googly eyed wuvvy dovey idiot either. Food for thought.
> 
> Another P and P reference there somewhere.
> 
> My H on this story—hahaha, your villain’s name is Valen. Valen the villain. And then he said Valen sounds like I mashed up Van Halen…which reminded me of justice friends…and that doofus rock star character. So…Valen’s lost all scary appeal. Sigh. 
> 
> Americans—WTF is going on over there? Every time I read a news headline, I’m all ‘WTF’ Teachers to be trained with guns? Librarians to be trained with guns—I mean, LMAO. Flight attendant puts dog in an overhead compartment, and poor dog dies? Dog gets flown to Japan instead of Kansas (how does anyone mix up those two locations?)? Tillerson fired? Trump admits to making up random facts during trade meeting?


	8. Share the Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Note: Holy shit—chapter was tough to write. Like I’d rather go to the dentist than write this. Probably the most challenging thing I’ve written. The GK is a bit too nicey nice for my liking. The sex part was excruciating. On another note—this is the fourth sex scene I’ve written in three weeks. Lmao – maybe I should call myself Bessie May Freebush and publish an ebook.
> 
> Share the Bed

 

\--

_Before Sarah can ask what the fuck that means, he lowers his lips to hers—this time, his kiss isn’t hungry—it’s desperate and fiercely possessive._

\--

Sarah freezes as an array of conflicting emotions overtake her thoughts—she _likes_ kissing him. Perhaps a little more than prudent.

“Stop thinking,” Jareth growls, pulling back when she doesn’t respond to his kiss. “Let go, Sarah.”

_Let go?_

She looks up at him, a thrill runs down her spine at the hunger in his gaze. “I…uh…don’t think that’s a good idea,” she stammers out—voice hoarse, and eyes heavy.

Burying his face into her hair, Jareth groans. _This woman is going to be the death of him_. “Why not?”

She raises her brows— _why not, indeed_.

_The angel in her head holds out a ruler, like a stern, old schoolmarm, and shakes her head. Because you’re beginning to like him—you like his sarcasm—his cooking—the gentleness with which he took care of your drunk ass. That’s why._

_The devil in her head laughs at that—aren’t those great reasons to jump his bones, you idiot?_

_The angel whacks the devil with her ruler—you’re beginning to feel for him—and sleeping with him will take all those feelings and set them on fire. Don’t do it._

_The devil rolls her eyes—what a bore—feelings, schmeelings, you deserve to get laid—and he seems to know what he’s doing…so…_

And just as she makes up her mind, he steps back, a tiny bit bewildered at the hazy expression on her face. She seems truly confused, and he’s not one to force himself on anyone…least of all, _her_.

“Sarah—are you alright?”

She laughs nervously, and moves out of his loosened grasp. “Yep, just had a brain fart…sorry.”

_Oh my God, you idiot—you just said brain fart. What are you, five? He’s never going to kiss you again._

Jareth grins. “If you say so, precious. You did say you were starving—come, let’s eat dinner.”

She rolls her eyes at herself when he turns his back. “Lead the way, GK,” she mumbles as she follows him to the kitchen…her jaw drops wide open when she sees the food arranged on the island counter. The rich aroma of the food makes her stomach growl, and she eyes the dishes curiously. “Holy. Fucking. Wow. What did you make?”

“I had the afternoon free as you were…fucking wasted.” He pauses and smiles as she rolls her eyes, a faint blush spreads over her cheeks. “I thought we could start with a round of shrimp shumai before moving onto panang curry and jasmine rice.”

She raises her brows to epic heights. “Panang curry? Where the hell did you learn how to make that?”

“A certain version of panang curry—I learnt the recipe from a street vendor in Bangkok…and before you ask, I learnt the shumai recipe from YouTube. Have been meaning to visit the northern part of the mainland, but haven’t had the chance.”

It takes her a while to process his words—he _learned a recipe_ from a _street vendor_ in _Bangkok_? The _fucking Goblin King_ had learned a recipe from a _street vendor_ …in _Bangkok_? What she finds even more shocking is that he sourced the shumai recipe from YouTube. The Goblin King scrolling through an iPad, looking for recipes on YouTube seemed like something that would happen if two parallel dimensions collided together.

“Perhaps you should start eating, instead of staring at me with your mouth open, precious thing—your stomach sounds like an angry bear on a rampage.”

Sure enough, her stomach is acting rather demanding at the moment. She takes a small plate he’s laid out and a pair of chopsticks—she eyes the dumplings hungrily before biting into one.

It tastes fucking delicious. Distorted body image be damned, she’s going to eat like a badass mofo tonight.

“I think you should open a restaurant,” she says between bites. “You’d make millions.”

He laughs, eyes crinkling with humor—the austere lines on his face soften. “I already have millions, precious. Restaurants are far too much work, for far too little money.”

She grabs a bowl and places a generous helping of rice and curry. “Don’t let money be a de-motivator, Jareth. Grab life by the balls and _do something_ …other than traveling and learning recipes. Not that _that_ doesn’t sound like fun—but there’re only 195 countries in the world. What’re you going to do when you run out of places to visit?”

The glow of conviction in her eyes catches his interest—she truly believe what she says. “What would _you_ do, Sarah…if you had all the money in the world?”

“That’s easy,” she says with a shrug, oblivious that he’s used her name. “I’d make a documentary series on the difference in self-identity across various cultures.”

He raises a brow in question. “Very precise.”

Sarah laughs at the look of surprise on his face. “Yeah, that’s the _first_ documentary series I’d make. There are so many other topics to document. It’s why I’m slaving at the network—hopefully, I’ll get my own project in the next five years. There are, _like_ , millions of interesting things happening around the world. I want to see everything, explore everything, question everything I know—document _life_ as we know it, and as it could be. Trust me, there’s a _ton_ of things you could do.”

His lips part, his pale eyes narrow as he studies her emotions—his chest tightens as she speaks about her dreams. _So mortal…so full of life…vivacious energy…a sense of naivety and optimism._

“Hey, yo! Ground control to Jareth—did I lose you somewhere?”

He fixes her with a penetrating stare. “You haven’t lost me.”

_Well…he turned intense really fast._

“Good,” she says with a wink. “Relax, GK—I’d hate to think you zoned out while listening to me drone on about my enthusiasm for documentaries.”

He knows she’s only teasing him, but his jaw tightens nonetheless. “I haven’t zoned out, Sarah,” he states, tone harsher than he’d intended. He rises and clears the table, heading to the fridge—he takes out orange sorbet from the freezer.

“So…” she says, once they finish eating the sorbet—apparently, he’s made that from scratch as well—fucking talented bastard. “What do you wanna do next?”

Pursing his lips into a thin line, he stares at her with a heated gaze. _He can certainly think of a few things_ …but he snaps himself out of the compromising images that flood his mind.

“I’m going to brush my teeth first. Then, I suppose, we could play chess,” he says without further delay, his face unreadable.

_Chess? He wants to play fucking chess? After saying he’d wanted to kiss her all along? Ugh—fucking mercurial son-of-a-bitch._

_Two can play that game, GK._

“Okay,” she says with a shrug. “I call white.”

\--

_(Two hours and six games later)…_

“This is so fucking unfair,” she growls, realizing she’s been cornered again—checkmate is evident. “How are you able to predict my moves so easily?”

Jareth laughs—the sound low and musical. “I have centuries on you, precious thing, you’re _very_ predictable. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Very predictable?” She questions angrily—her eyes burn emerald fire.

“Easy. I only meant you’re as predictable as any other young mortal. Your emotions are written across your face,” he explains, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You’re no match for me, Sarah.”

_Oh no, he didn’t._

Sarah Williams decides then and there, that she’ll wipe the smug smile off the Goblin King’s haughty face. She decides to do something _unpredictable_.

Standing up slowly, she pushes the chessboard off the island counter—the pieces clatter on the hardwood floor. She smiles, taking in the look of surprise on his face.

“Predict _this_ , Goblin King…?” she questions suggestively, before wrapping her arms around his neck and molding her lips against his.

It takes him a few seconds to react, but when he does he is _voracious_. He kisses her like a man starving of thirst—as if she’s his salvation.

“Sarah,” he moans into her mouth—his hands reach for the tie to her robe. “Are you—”

She holds a finger to his lips. “Stop talking.” She shrugs out of her robe, dressed only in a camisole and sleep shorts. “Just… _stop_.”

He relents—lips gliding along her neck—he places a hot, open mouthed kiss at the base, where her pulse flutters wildly. His hands slip beneath the thin cotton camisole to grab her waist, his thumbs caresses her narrow ribcage.

Sarah’s body feels like it’s on fire—throwing back her head, she moans as he cups a breast which fits perfectly in his hand. She reaches for the fastening to his pants, but he pushes her hands away.

“I’ve waited for this far too long, Sarah,” he breathes into her neck—he lifts her up as he stands, laughing at the surprised yelp she lets out. “I’m not fucking you in my kitchen.”

Frankly, at this point, she doesn’t care whether they fuck in the kitchen or somewhere else—but he is determined. He takes her into his bedroom—a room as minimal as the rest of the house with glass walls that look out into the ocean. The sky is blanketed by thousands of sparkling stars and the moon is almost full—pale moonlight bounces off the colorful pebbles on the beach.

“Tell me you want this, Sarah,” he says, his pale eyes burning into hers, as he places her on the bed—he hovers over her, but keeps some distance between them, as if he’s ready to leave if she says no.

“I do,” she replies with a nod, her voice breathless, “I want you.” Hell, she wants him like she’s never wanted anyone—she _needs_ him.

That’s all he needs to hear. With a low growl, he unbuttons his shirt in hurried movements—leaving him clad only in form fitting jeans. He stops her when she moves to mimic his actions.

“No.”

 _No_? Her eyebrows shoot up. He wants to her to have sex with her top on?

Her surprise is short lived—Jareth’s lips twist into a devious smile, one that shows his sharp teeth.

“Allow _me_ —lift up your arms, precious.”

Her heart thunders in her chest at the look in his eyes—there’s a dangerous edge to his voice—but that only makes her more feverish for his touch. She does as he asks, surprised when he doesn’t remove her top right away. He observes her quietly instead, as if he’s memorizing every part of her body.

When he finally moves closer, he lifts up her flimsy camisole inch by inch, as if he’s unwrapping a present. He holds himself back in spite of the insatiable hunger he feels towards the mortal. He’s been waiting for this moment for an eternity, and he’ll be damned if it passes in the blink of an eye.

Her body grows hot as his eyes devour every sliver of exposed skin. Unable to keep from feeling conscious, she tries crossing her arms over her chest—but he stops her. A scarlet blush spreads across her chest…up her neck, and across her cheeks as self-consciousness takes over. She has a faded stretchmark or two—from developing breasts overnight during ninth grade. A tiny red mole sits atop her right nipple—along with a faint dusting of freckles right above her breasts. Freckles that she’d developed from one too many summers at her grandparents’ house, by the beach, with little regard for sun damage.

 _The hell is he looking at anyway—is he comparing her to Etel or Helios?_ The thought is mortifying enough that she struggles to free her arms.

“Don’t.” His voice is soft but commanding, controlled but voracious. “Let me see you, Sarah.” With those words, his hands tug at her sleep shorts, which he pulls down, along with her panties, in one smooth motion.

He stares at her for what feels like an eternity…and then he closes the distance between them in less than a second. His lips devour hers—his hands on either side of her head. He presses a hard thigh against the pulse between her legs—the rough fabric of his jeans providing just enough friction to transform the slow hum of desire running through her, to a throbbing need.

She takes a long, gasping breath when he finally leaves her mouth, his lips are only too eager to taste everything else. He places open mouthed kisses on her chest—her stomach—her thighs, before closing over a breast.

“Fuck. _Fuck_. Jareth.” Her voice is rough, eyes half shut.

He chuckles—intrigued by the sounds she makes. His hand reaches for her other breast, fingers tweaking her neglected nipple. He keeps pressing a thigh against her throbbing flesh, moving it in a slow rhythm until she starts thrusting back by reflex. His own painful arousal strains against the fabric of his jeans, begging to be released.

“God…,” she groans when she feels his tongue lave against her hardened nipple…and then she feels him suckle the pebbled tip. Just enough so that blood pools to the surface, sending a delicious zap of pleasure to her pulsing center.

She mumbles out a protest when his mouth leaves her breasts. She’d never felt so aroused before… _guess the GK has a magic touch_ …and then she feels him part her legs. She only has a second to prepare herself before his mouth is on her.

He strokes her slowly with his tongue, kissing her there as if he’s kissing her mouth. He moves his tongue in shallow thrusts, pleasuring her in a manner that’s both cruel and generous—until she sobs with need…and then he replaces his tongue with his fingers, first one…then two…then three. He fucks her deeper with his fingers, massaging her walls, until he finds a spot that makes her hiss out a slow, strangled ‘ _yes.._.’ Chuckling at her reaction, he suckles her pulsing nub just as he’d suckled her nipple.

When she comes, she cries out his name, her eyes tightly shut, and her hips bucking wildly against his face.

Jareth marvels at the mortal woman as she comes undone, his usually impeccable mask completely absent. Her long, sable locks fans across the pillows—her face is pink, and sweat beads on her brows. His pale eyes blaze with lust and something deeper, the expression on his face is an amalgamation of victory and desperation.  

“Look at me, Sarah.”

She does as he asks—gasping as she takes in the ferocious gleam in his eyes. “ _Jareth_ —”

“Shhh, precious—I _need_ you to look at me. Can you do that?”

She murmurs out a gravelly yes.

“Good.” That’s all he says before using his mouth on her again—this time he keeps his gaze fixed on hers. He takes his time—his tongue languidly strokes her entrance and moves up her slit—the caress slow and deliberate.

His eyes darken when her gasps turn into moans, and her moans turn deep and hoarse. Her eyes drown in pleasure, but she holds his gaze—as if she’s unable to look away. With one hand he holds her hips in place so that she can’t move, and with the other he spreads her legs wider. He knows he can end her anguish quickly—all he has to do is use his fingers to push her over the edge.

…but he doesn’t.

Instead he keeps pleasuring her with his mouth until she cries out with the need for release—and only then does he use his fingers.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice a low grow. “I _need_ to see you, Sarah. _Look at me_!”

And so she does—she keeps her eyes fixed on his as she comes—as her orgasm reels though her body in slow, undulating waves.

He moves to kiss her mouth when her tremors subside—groaning as she parts her lips and welcomes him with her eager tongue. He pulls her up into a seated position, her back against the slate headboard of his modern bed. He places her legs on either side of his hips, and wraps his legs around her body, adjusting himself so that the base of his erection grinds against her slick center.

“Tell me you want me, Sarah,” he murmurs, his lips moving against the outer shell of her ear.

She moans, feeling his hardened flesh against her lower abdomen—the tip leaves a wet trail on her skin. “I want you,” she says between gasps. She’s never been in this position before—her back braced against the headboard—legs wide open—her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. She feels vulnerable—like she’s kept herself completely open.

He studies her intensely—as if he wishes to burn the image in his memory—before sliding into her. His hands reach down to hold the back of her hips—and he pulls her closer. He glides his lips over hers in a tender kiss…and then he moves.

She cries out—it takes a few seconds for her to adjust to his length…and the angle at which he moves against her. _Fuck_ …she feels full to the brim… he’s in so deep that she can’t separate herself from him.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks, forcing himself to keep from increasing his pace. His muscles are tightly coiled, and his breathing is labored. “Should I stop?”

“No,” she chokes out, “Don’t you dare stop.”

He flashes her a wolfish grin as his strokes become harder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They merge into each other, a tangled mass of bodies and limbs—heat—sweat—a nip of sharp teeth. The sound of heated flesh upon heated flesh. Desperate lips kissing every inch of exposed skin, before finding each other. Their rhythm becomes faster…and faster…until it reaches a frenzied peak.

She whimpers against his mouth—he’s in too deep—deep enough that the boundaries between pleasure and pain collide…pushing her over the edge ruthlessly. Low, wracking moans escape her throat and she buries her head in his neck, her lips tasting the salt of his sweat soaked skin.

He groans—feeling her clench. He increases the speed of his strokes—he feels his muscles tense until the sensation becomes agonizing…and then… _ecstasy_. He pulls out of her at the last minute, releasing himself on the mattress.

Touching his forehead to hers, Jareth lets out a shuddering gasp—still breathing heavily from his orgasm. “There’s an unfortunate confession I must make, precious,” he murmurs, a smile in his voice.

Her mind is still cloudy, but his words catch her attention.

_Unfortunate confession…?_

“Uh…what?” she asks, instinctively pulling herself away.

“We’ll need to sleep in your room tonight. There’s no way I’m sleeping on a semen soaked bed.”

Slipping her arms back around his shoulders, she laughs against his chest. “As long as you’re willing to share the bed with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, we’re cool.”

\--

_[Deep in the night]…_

Jareth returns Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s scrutinizing stare with equal intensity—damned feline wasn’t happy to share her space with him at all. Too bad, he thinks, smirking at the angry cat, before turning to look at the woman sleeping next to him.

His heart clenches when he thinks of what he’s about to do—but what choice does he have? He’s sick of Valen’s cat and mouse game—and he knows just how to end it. He holds one of her slim hands and cradles it against his chest, whispering out a mild sleeping enchantment so that she doesn’t awaken.

…and then he takes a dagger and makes a small incision on her finger. He squeezes out a few drops of her blood into a lace handkerchief.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet screeches and hisses her fury…but she doesn’t come any closer to him. As an instinctive hunter, she senses he is dangerous—a much bigger predator with sharper claws and teeth.

Ignoring the incensed, half-bald cat, Jareth smiles bitterly as he opens a window and lets the handkerchief flutter away.

Now all he has to do is wait…

\--

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN—only a chapter or two remains. What is the GK up to?
> 
> Ah yes—they brush their teeth before chess b/c sex just doesn’t go well with garlic breath. And sleeping on a semen soaked bed – majorly gross. Meh—I tried going for ‘romantic’ sex here, but just kept thinking ‘this is so NOT sexy’ when writing the scene.
> 
> Also—WARNING—the pull out method doesn’t work as an accurate birth control technique. Don’t do it. It’s just used in this story for convenience’s sake. And b/c I wanted to write that one line about the semen soaked bed.
> 
> Hmm…panang curry = my fave Thai curry ever. I was wondering whether to go with panang curry or this Sri Lankan, upside down pancake type dish called hoppers that’s served with fish curry. It’s a breakfast dish usually, but can be eaten at other times. OMG amazeballs. If there’s a Sri Lankan restaurant in your city—try it out! The most fun I had writing this chapter was describing the food.
> 
> Sri Lanka has been my ‘go to’ short vacation destination these last few years—and the country is freaking amazing. Highly recommend. If you’re in Colombo, try out a restaurant called Ministry of Crab—you’ll feel like inhaling everything on the menu. Also, the northern coast of British Columbia is just…no words…gorgeous. Untouched, pristine, colorful pebble beaches—icy blue waters. Also recommend.
> 
> I cannot wait to be done with this…have a really fucked up five part story in my head. Dark fairy tale Labyrinth AR, blurred lines between dreams and reality, dubious consent, Jareth owns a fucked up firm—called…omg wait for it…Labyrinth Ventures. Sarah’s father’s business is going bankrupt—she needs Labyrinth Ventures to invest major $ so she can turn it around. Tag line—‘let the fucked up games begin.’ Who’s with me?
> 
>  


	9. Many Deceptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Note: Just need to move along with this. One more chapter and an epilogue (maybe). Lemme know who’s still reading this.
> 
> Many Deceptions

 

\--

_[Early morning hours, right before sunrise]…_

Sarah awakens, feeling something sharp on her nose—opening her eyes slowly, she sees an angry Lizzie pawing at her face with partially retracted claws. She groans, feeling a very naked warm body next to hers—Jareth’s slim arm tightens around her by reflex, pulling her closer into his warmth.

Lizzie frowns—or she would have, if cats could frown. She expresses her anger in a loud, growling noise that’s part meow, part grr—‘mrrrrrr.’ It’s the sound she usually makes when her food bowl is empty…and that, consequently, means she will not shut up until her bowl’s been filled up. Cursing silently at her cat, Sarah gently detangles herself from Jareth’s grasp—surprised that his lean arm would exert so much strength. It’s like the bastard is made of lead or something.

“I’m getting your food, hush,” she whispers at the irate cat—praying Jareth wouldn’t wake up with all the racket.

By some miracle, he stays asleep. She slowly moves out of the bed, and wears her tank top and sleep shorts that she finds discarded on the floor. Her face turns red as she recalls last night’s details.

_Should not have done it, Williams. Should have kept it in your pants._

Stealing a look at the sleeping Goblin King, she can’t help but stare at the sight before her—he looks…different. So much more relaxed and less austere.

_Argh. Snap out of it!_

She scrubs her hands against her face— _what are you going to do now, idiot_? This is going to be hella awkward when he wakes up. The hell is she going to say? Apart from ‘wow, I didn’t know that position even existed?’ Perhaps she shouldn’t say anything at all. Perhaps she should just jump him before he starts talking… _hmm_ …she’s never been the type to use sex as a solution to life’s problems, but when it comes to the GK, it could be a very useful problem solving tool, indeed.

Stretching her limbs, she goes towards the closet, where she’s kept Lizzie’s food, only to see Lizzie run out of the door, into the hallway that leads to the kitchen.

_Of course, Lizzie HAS to act like a major pain in the ass just THIS moment—silly cat!_

“Miss Lizzie!” Sarah whispers angrily, walking into the kitchen on her toes. Damned cat blends into the background like she’s made of shadows. “Come back here right now!”

Sarah knows it’s all in vain. She can command Miss Lizzie all she likes, but like all cats, Miss Lizzie will do anything she damn well pleases. “Come back here, you irritating, stubborn, pain in the—”

A rustle of wind interrupts her tirade.

“Lizzie?” Sarah calls out quietly, her heart starts hammering in her chest. _Something is wrong_ —she can feel it. There’s a chill in the air that makes the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. One by one, the pale stars in the early morning sky fuse out, and the moonlight grows dimmer. A slow, indulgent chuckle reverberates against the kitchen walls.

“Jareth…?” she questions with a wavering voice—as if she instinctively knows the voice doesn’t belong to him. “Is that you?”

The chuckle transforms into full blown laughter. “Come now, Sarah—you know I’m not Jareth.”

Her mouth falls open when _he_ steps out of the shadows, and she can’t help but take a step back. “Who are you?”

The… _man_ …seems familiar, yet he’s also alien. His hair is white, shorter than Jareth’s, less unruly—his face and frame are both wider—his jaw squarer. His icy pale eyes are perfectly symmetrical. He moves towards her with a charming smile on his face.

“You know who I am…don’t you?” His tone is completely conversational—not a hint of a threat belying his words. And _that’s_ what scares her all the more.

 _Valen_ —she thinks—but she shakes her head and takes another step back.

“I don’t believe you, precious Sarah—you know _exactly_ who I am. Say my name.” The gleam in his cold eyes is teasing, as is the smile on his lips. There’s nothing particularly threatening about his demeanor or his manner of speaking.

She can feel something nudge her mind, urging her to say his name. “Va…Val…” she screams—blinding pain engulfs her senses.

“Be a good girl and say it completely, Sarah,” Valen drawls, as if enjoying her reaction to his name. 

Clenching her fists, she opens her mouth to tell him to go to hell, but something stops her. Instead, she tries saying his name again. “V…” she holds her head as pain overtakes her senses. “Stop.”

He laughs. “It’s only a name, precious Sarah. _Say it_.”

This time, she’s able fight him—she screams, “Jareth!”

He stops moving and tilts his head. “He can’t hear you, sweet girl. I’ve… _encapsulated_ …him.”

“Jareth!” She screams again, ignoring his words. As if she’d be stupid enough to listen to him.

Valen smiles disarmingly, and moves closer to the trembling mortal. “You think he’ll come to your rescue, naïve mortal? You think he cares for you?” He traces a finger against her lips, enjoying the look of fear in her eyes. “Who do you think alerted me of your presence?”

…and just like that, Sarah’s fear morphs into blazing anger. “I’m not an idiot,” she says with a hard scoff. “He’s been keeping me from you the whole time—I’m not dumb enough to think _Jareth_ led you here.”

Valen laughs a very familiar, slow, lilting laugh—the sound makes her cringe. It sounds wrong coming from him. “How quick you are to come to his defense. My brother hasn’t lost his… _persuasive_ …skills after all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Go ahead and laugh like a creepy villain—it’s not going to do you any good. There’s no good reason for Jareth to alert you of my presence.”

He stills, face turning into cold, hard marble. “No reason, precious Sarah?”

“Yeah, he says he’s weak and has to replenish magic with nature. He wouldn’t want to face you till then,” she replies, doing her best not to cower before him. If she’d thought Jareth was scary, this guy was _beyond_ scary.

“Ah… _that_ ,” Valen dismisses. “He’s managed to replenish a great deal of magic. I believe _you_ had something to do with it—not nature.”

She gapes. “Me?”

“Hmm,” Valen hums in agreement. “ _You_ —precious girl. Or perhaps I should clarify…” his eyes run up and down her sparsely dressed form, before finding her eyes, “…what you _freely_ gave him last night.”

Her eyes widen when she considers his words. _Her. What she freely gave him?_

“You mean sex? What a fucking archaic way of looking at things. The Feminine Mystique was written 55 years ago, douche bag—get with the times,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes—her voice belies the sudden panic churning in her gut.

He laughs—the sound harsher than before—the gleam in his eyes, less charming. “Forgive me. One stops… _learning new things_ …after the first five centuries of existence.”

_Five centuries?!_

“ _Fuck_ , you’re old. Congratulations.” She doesn’t know what else to say to _that,_ apart from ‘holy shit, I’m fucked’—but she holds her ground nonetheless, arms crossed, a defiant glint in her emerald gaze.

“Not old, precious Sarah. _Ancient_ ,” he corrects, eyes flickering with amusement. “But that’s not the point. I suppose, my darling brother didn’t mention that being with you would replenish his magic considerably well?”

 Sarah falters…his smile grows wider.

“I take that as a no,” Valen drawls, with a predatory step forward.

She takes a step back. “That makes no sense to me.” Seriously— _is she supposed to have a magical vagina or something_? The absurd thought makes her giggle nervously.

“He’s kept you unaware of your importance, hasn’t he?” Valen’s words are more of a statement than a question, but he searches her eyes for an answer—there is no deception in her words.

Sarah frowns—she remembers that Helios had pretty much said the same thing. Jareth, for all of his conviction in keeping her protected, hadn’t really divulged too much information at all.

“Newsflash, _fake_ Goblin King—I’m really not _that_ important. Trust me, I’d have made line producer by now if I had any sort of magic at all.” Hell, she’d have zapped half the network into unemployment and made sure they hired the right kind of staff—people with functional brains at the very least.

“You don’t possess any magic, naïve girl,” Valen responds with a delighted laugh—it doesn’t hold Jareth’s mocking edge or derisiveness, but there’s something about his laughter that makes her skin crawl.

She raises her brows. “ _How_ did Jareth ‘replenish his magic’ by sleeping with me, Sherlock?”

…and just like that, the current Goblin King turns deadly serious. His eyes are pale shards of glass on his unyielding face. “You are the key to the Labyrinth, Sarah Williams. I’ve traversed the realms to take possession of you. Once I kill my brother, of course…can’t have him _interfering_ in my plans.”

_Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Keep calm and carry on, Williams. Don’t fucking panic._

“I’m not going to let you kill him,” she blurts out. Never mind that Jareth seems to be a sex god of sorts, and sex gods like him don’t deserve to die…and never mind that Jareth has kept her in the dark of what’s going on…but she _feels_ something for him.  

“So much conviction,” Valen muses, his tone indubitably indicating that he’s impressed with the mortal woman. “So ignorant of his…many deceptions.”

She scoffs. “Like I’m going to believe you. Deception is an art, haven’t you heard?”

 “Look at your right hand, precious mortal—he cut your finger open for your blood, and placed it outside this…dwelling…to alert me of your presence.”

She does as he asks, letting out a startled gasp when she notices a small red line on her index finger. “That…that doesn’t mean anything. Could have been a papercut.”

“Mortals and their willful ignorance. I can sense he’s used persuasion on you, precious Sarah…have you…divulged…any of your deep, dark secrets to him?”

 _Deep, dark secrets?_ She doesn’t have any of those… _and yet_ …her mind goes back to the time she’d started crying in front of him…once she’d spilled out everything about her breakup. And _worse_ , her mother.

A slow laugh. “I see you’re beginning to have a better understanding of your… _predicament_. My darling brother wants his throne back under _any_ circumstances. _You_ , sweet, naïve mortal, are, what you’d call, collateral damage.”

Her mind’s a chaos of conflicting emotions—her heart constricts painfully. _Still_ , she holds her ground. “I guess that’s a modern term you’re familiar with. Even if you’re telling the truth, why would he want _you_ here?”

“He means to kill me, of course—and he will try. Perhaps using you as the key to the Labyrinth’s reservoir of magic will allow him to succeed.”

She shrugs. “Not my problem.”

“A selfish little thing, aren’t you?” Valen questions, lips spreading across his face in a crooked grin. “And _what_ , do you suppose, he shall do with you?”

Her eyes widen—what _would_ Jareth do with her, indeed.

Valen chuckles when she doesn’t respond. “Taking into consideration, he’s managed to convince you that he cares for you—I suppose he’ll ask you to come along with him. Stay with him. Give him access to the Labyrinth’s power at all times…” he pauses, relishing the flash of hurt that flickers in her eyes. “And _you_ …sweet, naïve girl…will heartily say yes. Tell me, precious Sarah, has he ever sought you out before?”

She shakes her head—her stomach flips, and she tries valiantly to swallow down burgeoning panic.

“No, he hasn’t,” Valen answers his own question when she remains quiet. “Seven mortal years, Sarah—that’s how long he’s been here. Very close in proximity to your place of residence. If you meant something to him— _even something remotely significant_ —one would assume, he would have contacted you.”

Valen’s poisonous words swirl in Sarah’s head, and she struggles to acknowledge the truth to his words. Jareth _hadn’t_ been in touch with her at all—last night he’d said he’d waited for her, for what felt like an eternity… _yet_ …if _that’s_ how he felt, wouldn’t he have…

_NO! Snap out of it, Williams—he’s tricking you!_

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” she says evenly, or as evenly as she can.

“Oh no, sweet Sarah—don’t lie to yourself.” Valen shakes his head reproachfully. “As much as I dislike my brother, I am impressed by the cunning mastery of his manipulative skills. Look how easily he’s convinced you to help him.”

Just as Sarah’s about to remind him that the only reason they’re even together is because Valen attacked her, she hears a loud howl from outside the house— _what the fuck?_

“Don’t worry your pretty head over _that_ , naïve girl—she’s only my pet. You’ve met her before…she’s developed quite a taste for your blood.”

Sarah jaw drops open. _She’d been attacked by his pet?_ “I thought you attacked me.”

Valen barks out a short laugh. “Attack is too strong a word, sweet girl,” he murmurs. “That’s how Zarya says hello. She will… _reintroduce_ …herself once I take you away from here. Jareth’s warded the house against the Lupine.”

Lupine? Fucking Lupine? Isn’t that something to do with wolves…? Holy, ever loving fuck, she’s screwed! She’s going to turn into a hirsute beast every full moon—no amount of laser hair removal procedures would work.

_Buck up, you idiot—you have more pressing matters than worrying about growing a ginormous bush that would put Roger the Shrubber to shame._

“Your pet is a werewolf?” Sarah blurts out.

“Don’t look so shocked, precious mortal—the condition doesn’t spread, like mortals believe it does.”

She breathes out a sigh, but her relief is short lived. He laughs as he reads the emotions flit across her mortal face. _Too easy_.

“But you will be… _affected_ …by it, do not doubt that.”

“Do you have a point?” Sarah demands through gritted teeth—the bastard is toying with her on purpose. She tries, as nonchalantly as possible, to look around the kitchen.

_Damn, it’s too dark. Where the fuck could Jareth be?_

“Of course, I could make things easier for you, should you choose to come with me without a fight.”

_Ah. So that’s his game plan._

Sarah laughs humorlessly. “You… _and_ your arrogant prick of a brother… must think I’m the stupidest person alive. I have no idea what his MO is, but if you think I’m going to choose _you_ over _him_ , you’re fucking delusional.”

Valen doesn’t respond—instead, he tilts his head and raises his hand.

Sarah rolls her eyes, the sheer amount of adrenaline in her system kills any fear she knows she _should_ feel on facing a predator like Valen.

_Why the fuck is he raising his arm? Who the fuck does the bastard think he is, Darth Fucking Vader?_

“Ooh—I’m so scared—” Sarah begins, but her words die in her throat as pain overwhelms her senses. It’s much worse than before—she feels a tremendous amount of pressure in her chest, like her heart is being pulled apart.

Valen keeps his eyes fixed on the mortal as she doubles over in pain. Just a few moments, and she’d be… _indisposed_ …enough that he could carry her away to the Underground. He doesn’t tear his cold gaze away—not even as he hears his brother’s voice.

“This is between us, Valen—leave her be.”

“You managed to evade my encapsulation spell?” Valen asks curiously, eyes still hooked on Sarah—she slumps to the ground as he halts his magic from causing more damage. “I suppose channeling the mortal would allow you to do that…” he raises his gaze from Sarah as she crawls away and rests her back against a glass wall, unable to stand, and looks at Jareth, “…but do you really believe you can fight me and win?”

Jareth stands tall, keeping himself from running towards Valen and tearing him apart piece by piece. He’d awoken to find the bed devoid of Sarah and the damned feline—he’d managed to wear his jeans as Valen’s spell had encapsulated him in a freezing spell.  

“Let her leave.”

“Have _some_ integrity, my darling brother,” Valen says with a dark chuckle. “Don’t pretend to care for the mortal—not after using her as bait.”

_Bait? He’d fucking used her as bait?_

Sarah can’t help but gasp aloud at the word bait—she’s too weak to say anything. She cranes her neck painfully to look at Jareth, but he’s staring at Valen—he doesn’t spare a second to glance at her direction. The fact that Jareth doesn’t bother denying the accusation makes her heart clench painfully.

“You hurt her again and I will make every waking moment unbearable for you, Valen,” Jareth promises darkly, his voice deathly quiet—his fury barely concealed beneath a veneer of ice. “I’ll make you beg for your demise—you and every council member who allowed your hunt.”

Valen dismisses his brother’s threat with a wave of his hand. “Come now, Jareth. Both of us know that you’ve never reveled in true cruelty. That falls under my domain—not yours.” He swoops down and gathers a barely conscious Sarah in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on her temple.

Doing her best to kick and scream, Sarah tries breaking free of his grasp…to no avail. _Fuck_ , the bastard’s strong.

_Why isn’t Jareth doing anything??!!_

_Her_ Goblin King is simply standing across the room, his eyes as dispassionate as his brother’s.

“Shhhh,” Valen whispers into Sarah’s ear. “You’re weak—I can feel it. I haven’t hunted mortals for a long time, precious girl—I enjoyed hunting you.”

Sarah tries squirming out of his grasp, but Valen’s grip is unyielding—and her throat is so dry, she can’t scream anymore. Using all her strength, she looks at Jareth—he hasn’t moved a muscle. He stares at her coldly—his lips twist upwards into a slow smirk.

“Jareth,” she whispers, tone pleading. “Help me.”

\--

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN—only a chapter or two remains.
> 
> If this was a different kind of story—I could write one hell of a fucked up love triangle between Jareth, Valen, and Sarah. But it’s more of a ‘happily ever after’ so that’s not happening. Pity.
> 
>  


	10. An Alliterative Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Note: Just need to move along with this. One more chapter and an epilogue (maybe). Lemme know who’s still reading this. Gimme an evaluation – likeability of characters, romance, relatability of characters, storyline (scale of 1 to 5, with one being the lowest).
> 
> Not that I’m the most grammatically inclined author going, but I know this story sucks in that dept compared to my other stories. It’s a fun sort of story…fun stories don’t need perfect grammar…no?

 

\--

_[Jareth’s house, Northern coast, BC]…_

_“Jareth,” she whispers, tone pleading. “Help me.”_

Jareth tilts his head, the smirk twists into something else—something too sharp and feral to be a smile. He can see the fear in her eyes—he can sense the uncertainty she feels. She doesn’t trust him—and she has no reason to. Valen isn’t wrong in any of his declarations.

Sarah stares at the impassive Goblin King, eyes wide in disbelief. _Is he seriously going to do nothing_? “Jareth?”

“Contemplating your next move?” Valen asks smoothly. “You don’t have enough magic to fight me, brother. If you let me leave with the mortal without an altercation, I shall allow you to live…this day.”

A laconic brow. “How generous…” Jareth shifts slightly, watching Sarah from the corners of his eyes. His eyes harden when he sees a small drop of blood dribble down the side of her mouth. He evaluates his options as quickly as he can. Valen isn’t wrong—he _is_ trying to contemplate his next move. As the risk of losing increases in a prolonged fight, he figures he should use as much magic as he can in a single attack.

Valen barks out a small laugh. “It is—considering this mortal has…or _had_ rather, captured your special interest.” He kisses along Sarah’s jawline, his lips inching their way down her neck…his eyes, however, remain intent on his brother, looking for a reaction.

“You cannot stabilize the Labyrinth without her, Valen—you need her alive. Just as much as I need her alive,” Jareth sneers in response—not the least bit concerned when his brother nips Sarah’s earlobe, eliciting a soft cry of fear.

“You’re colder than I gave you credit for,” Valen states, letting Sarah fall out of his arms in a crumpled heap—he laughs as she scrambles away, half running, half crawling. “You can’t run very far, little mortal.”

Sarah wants to tell the bastard to go fuck himself, but she’s too weak—her throat too raw. She crouches in a defensive position at the far end of the kitchen, eyes seeking Jareth—she gasps at the look of detached fury in his dual gaze.

Jareth’s mind rages at him—actually, it rages at her. _Why doesn’t she run away as far as she can_? When he speaks, his voice comes out cool and collected. “Stand.”

 _Stand_?

 _Fucking ugh--!_ She can’t think of an insult off the top of her head.

“Stand,” Jareth repeats himself, eyes cold and pitiless.

“I’m fucking trying,” she chokes out—her legs tremble violently, but she manages to stand.

Valen watches the exchange curiously—he doesn’t know what to make of the mortal’s importance to his brother. Jareth had refused to put her on trial, and had subsequently lost his throne—so she must mean _something_. But his indifference towards her these last seven years show that perhaps he as another plan in motion for this woman.

“Tell me, brother—why did you not put her on trial as per the High Court’s orders?” Valen asks, eyes fixed on Jareth—scrutinizing every expression. “You chose exile instead…” his frost laden gaze drifts over to the woman, and he smiles humorlessly. “She feels… _hope_. She believes you actually care for her…that’s… _precious_. Is that why you call her that? Because she’s _preciously stupid_?”

“Fuck you,” Sarah grits out, glaring at Valen. If she had enough strength, she’d have glared at both of them.

“Hmm.” Valen’s smile fades away—his eyes narrow as he turns towards Sarah. “You _will_ , mortal. You have the fortunate…or _unfortunate_ …fate of being the key to the Labyrinth. Fucking you, as my brother has, is highly beneficial to me…so be assured, I will take you up on your word.”

 _Well…that gave new meaning to the term being fucked_. _Stupid fucking magic vagina._

Still…she’s not going to let the bastard have the last word. “Jesus. Some people you can’t even insult”—she says to him, tone rife with sarcasm.

“Harming her will not benefit either of us,” Jareth interrupts, his voice deceptively calm. “Let her leave the premises.”

Valen considers his brother’s proposal. “Zarya is outside…without my presence, I cannot guarantee the mortal will remain safe.”

“Then send her back,” Jareth replies calmly.

“I am not a fool—Zarya is my first in command, she stays.”

Jareth raises a cool brow in response. “This… _battle_ …between us has gone on long enough, Valen. I suggest we end it tonight—she will not survive if she’s exposed to a high concentration of magic. Send Zarya to the High Court—I’m sure you can summon her later.”

A hard laugh. “You mean after I tear your heart out?”

Jareth smiles, a gleaming flash of razor sharp teeth. “If you succeed.”

“Perhaps I will wait,” Valen says, his voice suddenly quiet. “What does this mortal mean to you, Jareth? What would you do if I broke her, while making you watch?”

Sarah lets out an involuntary gasp at the prospect—the sound captures Valen’s interest immediately. Fresh adrenaline pumps through Sarah’s veins as she processes the very real threat of being raped and who knows what else, by Valen.

“You’re afraid,” Valen murmurs, his voice calm and soothing—a stark contrast to the promise of violence in his eyes. “You needn’t be, _precious_ Sarah—I will ensure your body complies with everything I do…I’ll be slow, sweet mortal—gentle enough that you will experience pleasure… _inevitably_.”

She feels—she can’t explain the feeling—it’s a mixture of disgust, fear, and rage. The bastard is telling her that he’ll be sure to rape her slowly and sensually—that he’ll make her experience pleasure against her will.

“Congratulations,” she tells him—she tries to keep her voice from wavering—from betraying the fear she feels—but she _can’t_. She’s fucking terrified. “You win the bodice ripper of the year award.”

Jareth laughs with detached amusement. “Stop wasting any more time, Valen—send Zarya back.”

There’s something deceptive about his brother’s behavior—Valen recognizes that, but he’s not able to gauge Jareth’s motivations. “Why are you so insistent that she’s safe, Jareth?”

Jareth rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “Still stalling, Valen?” he asks, ignoring his brother’s question. “One would assume you are afraid of facing me.”

“I’m not so quick to anger, brother,” Valen responds, a cruel smile on his face. “All these years, and you haven’t as much as touched the mortal…until last night. I had initially assumed that you cared for her…but…that’s clearly not the case. You made the poor thing swear an oath without understanding the repercussions of such an action.” He tilts his head, throwing Sarah a look that’s almost bored. “I can use just a little bit of persuasion to drive her mad this very instant.”

“A mortal with a broken mind will serve no purpose to either of us, Valen,” Jareth says, his voice conversational—like he was discussing which movie to watch. “Send your pet Underground, let Sarah leave.”

“She holds more power than previously believed—doesn’t she?”

Jareth releases a barely perceptible sigh of relief. “Perhaps.”

Valen laughs—there’s a tinge of admiration in his gaze as he assesses his brother. “Here I thought you were an utter simpleton. You waited for the opportune moment—biding your time, until you could use her to your advantage. Not only that, you’ve managed to convince her that you care for her. I am impressed.”

“And I don’t care,” Jareth responds with a nonchalant shrug.

“I have sent Zarya off. She is of no threat…at the moment.” Valen looks at Sarah—his pale eyes alight with cruel humor. “Run away, little mortal—I shall come for you soon.”

\--

Sarah’s chest is on fire—she feels a mélange of emotions that she’s never experienced before. Blazing fury and heartbreak—icy cold fear and panic—regret, loss, and a sense of losing something she’s never had. All of it together makes her heartrate jump to a frenzied pace.

She looks from one brother to the next—she hasn’t known Jareth long enough to figure out his motivations—but she’s smart enough to understand that she fares a far better chance at living with Jareth than his brother. Regardless of whether he’d used her magic vagina to recharge his magic—or whatever weird way he used her to channel magic, she knows he’s the key to her survival… _immediate_ survival, anyway.

Still…she’s damn pissed at him.

“Have fun tearing each other to pieces,” she says with a ragged breath as she steps one foot after the other until she’s outside the main door.

\--

_“Have fun tearing each other to pieces.”_

Valen laughs, seemingly impressed—“she proves to be more challenging than I imagined… _good_.”

Clenching his fists, Jareth takes one step forward. “Enough talk.”

“Very well.”

Both brothers appraise each other before going for the kill.

\--

_The key—the key—the stupid fucking key. How the fuck do they mean anyway? Stupid bastards—if they’d only speak normally, instead of using riddles._

Sarah fumes as she considers her next steps—her ribs hurt like a motherfucker, and her head is pounding. Surprisingly, the anger she feels towards Jareth works as a far more powerful motivator than her fear of Valen. It also works at keeping her warm in spite of the frosty air outside—stupid fucking Jareth—had he forgotten that they were in the middle of the not-so-frozen tundra? She’s sure to get frostbites if she stays out here too long.

_The fucker used me as bait?! Ugh—I’m going to make sure he lives through this…and then I’m going to kill him slowly. I’m going to make him pay for insulting my apartment—my job—my life—my cat…_

The thought of her cat sends her into sudden panic. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is in the house with the warring magical…whatever those two are. She’ll be damned if she lets those assholes injure her beloved pet.

Squaring her shoulders, Sarah Williams decides to do what she always does when faced with danger that promises certain death—she confronts it head on.

\--

_(Back in the house)…_

The sight that greets her, makes her stomach sink with fear. Jareth’s artful, minimalistic furniture is in pieces—hell, the entire kitchen and living area is in pieces. The glass walls remain intact, as does the frame of the house—she assumes it’s protected by strong magic.

She’d been outside for what…? Five minutes? They’d managed to destroy everything in five minutes? Where the hell is Jareth?

“Jareth…?” she calls—but the voice that answers her is most decidedly not his.

“You came back.”

She whirls around—gasping as she sees Valen holding himself against the wall. His face is badly battered—his cloak hangs in tatters—but he is alive. That meant…

“No,” she says softly. Jareth couldn’t be dead. _He couldn’t_.

Valen laughs, a grimace on his face—he seems to be in considerable pain. “You’ll find him over there,” he says, indicating a crumpled heap near the far corner.

Sarah doesn’t need to be told twice—her limbs move automatically as she rushes towards Jareth. She yelps when she sees his face—both his eyes are blackened—there are numerous cuts on his beautiful face. She sits on the floor and cradles his head on her lap, gently combing his wild hair from his eyes—they remain shut. Taking one of his wrists into her hand, she sighs with immense relief when she senses a faint pulse.

“He’s alive,” she says out loud—speaking to herself, “…you better not fucking die on me, Jareth.”

“I’ve decided to let him live for a few days,” Valen states with an air of magnanimousness that makes her snort. “I’d like him to witness his many failures before death comes for him.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Sarah tells him—but her eyes remain fixed on Jareth’s face. She holds his hand loosely in hers.

A derisive smile. “Whatever you believe—he does not care for you.”

Sarah pulls Jareth closer, making sure his head lies at a comfortable angle.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, acknowledging the veracity in her words the second they leave her mouth. It’s not as if she doesn’t care at all—but it doesn’t really matter what he feels for her. It doesn’t change the fact that _she_ cares for him. A hell of a lot, going by how her heart feels like it’s breaking into a million pieces.  

“You shed tears for him,” Valen observes as she starts crying, amused and inexplicably angry at the same time. “After knowing that he planned on using you? You must be very, very foolish.”

Sarah’s gaze is hard and unflinching when she looks up. “It doesn’t matter that he used me as bait—or that he’s going to use me in the future. I love him and I’m going to make you pay.”

Valen’s amusement only increases. “You… _love_ …him? You’re not foolish, little mortal—you are delusional.”

Sarah grabs each of Jareth’s hands with one of her own, holding on to him—as if afraid that letting him go will make him disappear. “At least I know what I feel—I’m not some fucking jaded former faerie monarch living in the human realm. Nor am I…what are you, anyway? A psycho? I’m going to go with psycho— I’m not a psycho intent on killing my brother to prove a point.” In all her anger, she doesn’t feel Jareth stir beneath her—his hands grasp hers gently.

“So you promise to make me pay…do you?” Valen asks—cold laughter reverberates around the glass walls. “What do you plan on doing, little mortal?”

Sarah bares her teeth—“I’ll never cooperate with what you want—I’ll fucking make it so miserable for you, you’ll feel like ripping your hair out. I know you can’t kill me—or you _won’t_ kill me, to be more precise—because you need me alive.” She knows inciting his anger isn’t the answer to escaping the situation—in fact, it’s a stupid thing to do—but she’s too far gone. The anguish she feels for Jareth morphs into fury.

Valen sighs mockingly. “You’re going to make this difficult—aren’t you?” He doesn’t give her a second to answer—in a flash of a second, he closes the distance between them and crouches next to her. He holds her chin in his hands—his touch bordering on forceful.

“Don’t touch me,” she says—her voice wavers, breath hitching in sudden fear. “I swear, I’ll—” he cuts her off, crushing his mouth against hers brutally.

He holds the back of her neck with his other hand, keeping her in place as he forces her to kiss him back. He has to keep himself from laughing—defeating Jareth had been more difficult than he’d anticipated, but overpowering this mortal woman is too easy. Not remotely the challenge he’d anticipated her to be…

…she bites him with as vicious a force as she can gather, tearing her teeth through his lower lip. “Take that you sadistic freak!”

Valen pushes her away, and touches a finger to his bleeding lips—he looks at her for a few moments—his pale eyes are pure ice. “Needlessly foolish,” he admonishes—and then he slaps her across the face.

The force is enough to snap her head to the side—her face stings and turns numb from the shock. But she keeps holding onto Jareth’s hands—she can’t bring herself to let go. “You’ll have to beat me unconscious to get me to stop fighting you,” she tells him with a strangled laugh. “I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”

“Oh, Sarah,” Valen laments, shaking his head. “We have all the time in the world for that—I’d like to wait until my brother is awake—”

Whatever Valen had been about to say is cut off by a loud blast of magic—Sarah feels a thrumming force run along her skin, her hair—static energy making every strand stand on edge. A warm glow surrounds her, blinding her vision for a few moments—she can hear Jareth call her name faintly.

“Sarah…?”

-

_“Sarah…?”_

She opens her eyes—jaw dropping open as she sees Jareth. His injuries are miles better than just a few seconds earlier. He holds out a hand, indicating that she take it.

Ignoring Jareth’s outstretched hand, she tries standing up herself— _tries_ being the keyword. She staggers, and falls…but he holds her before she hits the ground…only to curse loudly when she struggles like a hellcat.

“ _Sarah_.” His grasp tightens when she keeps struggling, trying to get away from him. “Let me see if you’re injured—stop struggling, dammit!”

A zillion furious thoughts run through Sarah’s head when she hears him command her to stop struggling. She wants to rage at him—to tell him to go to hell—join his psycho brother wherever he is…but she doesn’t. Instead, she calmly detangles herself from his grasp, and dusts herself off before looking him in the eye. “You fucking used me as bait?”

Jareth takes a staggering step back—damn, she looks angry. Well, _that_ , and fucking hot as hell—her eyes are ablaze, her hair wild. “I needed him to come to me, precious. It was a gamble I won… _we_ won.”

She chokes out a laugh. “ _We_ —there’s no we, Jareth. You saved me for your power—for your precious throne.”

“I saved you because I care for you.”

Rolling her eyes, she refutes his claim with the most obvious question she can think of. “Then why didn’t you contact me earlier? If you’ve been here seven fucking years—why now, Jareth?”

Jareth grits his teeth. He wants to examine the bruise that’s blossoming on her cheek, but he keeps his distance.

“Cat got your tongue, Goblin King—I can call you that, right? Now that your brother seems to have disappeared?”

“He hasn’t disappeared, he’s dead,” Jareth snaps—a slow smirk twists his lips when he sees her eyes widen. “And yes, you may address me as Goblin King. Your Majesty will also suffice.”

Sarah smiles coldly at that. “You haven’t given me an adequate response as to why you never contacted me, Your Worship.”

“I was angry,” he replies, looking away. “I know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I was arrogant, angry, and afraid.”

_Arrogant, angry, and afraid? What a fucking joke!_

“OOOh, you can alliterate,” she sneers at his explanation. “How _a_ wesome that you can form such an _a_ lliterative _a_ ssertion about being _a_ rrogant, _a_ ngry, and _a_ fraid. It’s a good thing I’m not so _a_ nencephalous as to fall for your _a_ rgument.”

He stares at her in bewilderment for a few moments, before erupting in laughter. “Anencephalous? Did you just use anencephalous in a sentence?”

 …just like that, her anger evaporates, and she’s left with all the emotions she’s bottled up inside. Without much thought or deliberation, Sarah Williams does something she doesn’t usually do—she bursts into tears.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN—I was home last night (Saturday)—I wrote instead of going out. Must stay away from food and booze or face the wrath of my gym guy. My spellcheck is underlining ‘anencephalous’ but the internet tells me it’s a word—so imma go ahead and use it. LMAO – someone used that word with me once—in a casual convo—I think he was trying to prove how smart he was. Have you guys ever come across some pompous dicks who’ll use the most complicated vocab in a casual conversation?
> 
> Don’t worry folks, Miss Elizabeth Bennet is fine—cats are good at taking care of themselves. They don’t heroically rush out in the face of danger to rescue everyone else—they’re smart that way. She’s hiding in an interesting location—Jareth won’t be too pleased.
> 
> Now I know why people write UST and millions of chapters of no sex. With a ‘predictable’ Jareth—sex is boring to write and then you’re stuck…what do you write next? More boring sex? I’d thought of waiting for the ‘sex’ part till the very end, but just couldn’t do it. Felt like I was doing AP lit homework – write a thesis sentence, three paragraphs with suitable arguments, one concluding paragraph. The end. Of course, back then, I’d have tried using a ton of vocab words like any other pretentious AP lit student.
> 
> Conflict and resolution—felt like I was writing the most deus ex machina-est of deau ex machinas. Cringe cringe. But I’m not going to write a lengthy fight scene. Boring. I have to force myself to write a few of those for Dark Court.
> 
> I guess one more chapter and an epilogue remaining. S and J must reconcile, after all. And have SOME exciting sex that’s slightly fucked up. Shouldn’t they? Maybe J will be just a little bit unpredictable…oooh, fun times ahead. Also S deserves a better explanation of what’s going on—how J was able to recover etc.
> 
>  


	11. A Second Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story idea—credit goes to Christine Shane on the FB group.
> 
> Note: there’s no exciting sex here folks—couldn’t write it. Didn’t feel it. Gotta ‘feel’ the chemistry to write it. Explanation in the closing notes.

 

\--

_[Jareth’s house, Northern coast, BC]…_

Jareth closes the distance between them and lifts a curtain of dark hair away from her face. “Don’t cry on my account, precious.”

Her tears stop for a few moments—just long enough so she can glare at him—before the dam bursts again. Cool indifference would have been easier to deal with than the tenderness in his gaze. _Fuck him_. Figuratively, that is.

“Don’t cry,” he repeats, his voice more forceful. “You’re safe, your bloody cat’s safe—she’s hiding in the middle of my clothes—there’s nothing to fear.” He stands next to her awkwardly—not sure whether he should embrace her—not when she cringes from his touch.

“Don’t bother being all nice,” she says angrily, wiping her eyes with her hands. “You’ve done nothing but lie to me from the start. Don’t fucking bother with the ‘I can’t lie’ thing—it’s a fucking joke.”

A faint smile twists his lips. “I see you’ve recovered enough to swear like a sailor.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you. And not literally, asshole.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I suggest you take a shower, precious. It’s better if we converse when we’re both a little more…relaxed.”

_Take a shower? He’s saying she’s too dirty to have a conversation with him?_

Her mouth falls open— _still_ , she doesn’t argue. She starts walking—dragging her feet more like—to her allotted room.

“Sarah?”

She stops but doesn’t turn around. “Yes?”

“Could you collect your demonic feline from my room—the damned thing has probably ripped half my clothes apart.”

At _that_ , Sarah grins to herself—serves him right. “Sure,” she says, a little too cheerily.

_(An hour later)…_

She steps out of her room feeling a tad bit ludicrous. Instead of her usual sleep shorts and cami, she’d chosen to wear a proper, long sleeved, button-down pajama set—on top of which she wears a heavy robe—one that comes down all the way to her toes.

\--

Jareth raises his brows when he sees her all bundled up as she enters the living area—shock evident on her face to find the entire place completely restored.

“You fixed it.” Sarah stops moving towards him and lingers close to the small hallway, as if ready to head back to her room. “I guess your magic’s back.”

The tone of uncertainty in her voice makes him frown. “Not all of it—Valen’s death means the position of the Goblin King falls back to me. The court still has to unbind my… _personal_ …magic.” He notices her breath hitch—his frown deepens, and his eyes narrow.

Her face is drawn tightly—her eyes are wary as they meet his gaze. It occurs to him, for the first time since he barged into her apartment, that she seems to be afraid… _of him_. He doesn’t like the feeling.

_Stay calm, idiot—so he can magic the place back to normal—so what? It’s not like he’s going to throw a snake at you again._

Sarah fiddles with her thumbs—her feet feel like they’re frozen to the floor. “I…um…congratulations, I guess.”

“Come here, Sarah…”

“I just need to check something in the room—”

He interrupts her with a razor sharp smile. “… _please_.”

The hardness of his gaze makes her equal parts nervous as it makes her angry—but she chooses to sit on an armchair that’s adjacent to his. “What?”

He ignores her question as he notices her eyes are red and swollen. “I believe I told you not to cry.”

_Is he fucking serious?!_

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want, Jareth. I was threatened all kinds of terrible things by your brother—who, by the way, told me that I’ve been bitten by a werewolf, so who knows what’s going to happen to me. Then I almost froze to death outside—and I ran in to find you…” Sarah’s voice has a catch when she speaks, “I thought he’d killed you. It’s a shitload of things to take in one day—crying’s a very normal, _human_ reaction.”

A deep sigh. “I didn’t mean for you to get entangled in any of this, precious. As for Zarya, she’s not a werewolf,” there’s a faint smile on his lips, “…I don’t know if there’s a human mythological creature quite like her—but the worst that will happen to you is that perhaps you might have sharper senses.”

“Thank God,” she blurts out, relief flooding her senses. “I thought I’d turn super hairy and have to eat raw flesh or something. Where is she, anyway?”

“Detained at court, I assume—someone has to pay for Valen’s crimes, and they’re probably going to start with her.”

It’s Sarah’s turn to narrow her eyes as she studies the newly restored Goblin monarch—he looks intangibly different than he had before. Colder, perhaps. _Sharper_. Decidedly less human, she surmises. She looks away abruptly when a telltale smirk twists his lips—not the same Jareth who’d cooked the street vendor’s recipe of panang curry the night before.  

Studying the emotions that flit across her expressive face, Jareth raises a cool brow. _Why the hell isn’t she saying anything? She should be bombarding him with ‘but why this’ and ‘why that’ questions incessantly!_ “If you have any queries—now would be a good time, precious.”

She feels lost in the intensity of his gaze. If she were savvier, she’d have worded her next question better, but sheer exhaustion makes her rather blunt. “What next? I mean…what do you want from me?”

The bastard doesn’t answer her—his eyes burn into hers, as if he’s daring her to turn away. “I want you to _understand_ , precious thing.”

“Okay…” she responds, eyes widening even more—she hadn’t expected _that_. She stares back at him for a few seconds, before deciding she may as well beat him to the punch and bring up the elephant in the room. Subtlety has never been one of her strong suits. “I’m not going to ask why you never hit me up earlier—whatever, man, it’s your life. I have no right to demand you should have done something different— _especially_ if you didn’t want to. But sleeping with me to recharge your magic is so… _not_ what I expected out of you. You could have asked, you know?”

Jareth raises both brows in surprise—his usually impassive expression fades for a few moments. “If that’s all I wanted from you, Sarah—I would seduced you as soon as I walked through your door. Better yet, as soon as I’d been exiled.”

His tone isn’t accusatory, there isn’t a hint of anger in the deep baritone of his voice—there’s another emotion present, one she can’t quite place. It unnerves her enough that she leans slightly away from him, grimacing as she notices his eyes widen just a fraction. He looks… _hurt_.

Deciding to drown out the confusing emotions swirling in her chest, she changes the subject. “Guess the whole exile thing is done with—so you’re probably heading back soon.”

He knows she’s shutting him out on purpose, and the thought makes him unreasonably furious. “Is that what you want, Sarah?”

The tone in which he says her name makes the tiny hairs on her arms stand up—he looks like he’s furious. That’s good. Pissed Jareth, she can deal with. “I want to go back home and get to work, Jareth—I’ve missed enough days already. I’d really appreciate your help if you can poof me back to my apartment—coz I’m on the other side of the continent and I have no freaking clue how to get back.”

…and with her words, his gaze hardens. “No.”

“What the _fuck_ —”

“Stop talking, Sarah,” he interrupts her outrage, a lethal edge to his voice—his dual gaze is made of glass and ice. “If you’re too much of a coward to say anything— _allow me_. I was very much afraid of getting in touch with you earlier—that’s not a lie.”

She laughs harshly. “Yes, I get it—you were afraid poor, innocent, naïve me would get my heart broken. Don’t worry about that— _I’m fine_ —I’m not going to stalk you or boil your pet bunny.”

He fixes her with an arresting stare—letting the silence stretch on uncomfortably for more than a few seconds. “I asked you to stop talking—don’t make me repeat myself again, precious.”

The bone chilling calmness in his voice stops her from making a scathing retort. “Fine,” she mumbles, looking away.

\--

Jareth lets out an aggressive sigh—damned mortal is infuriating. Forcing himself to remain gentle, he grips her chin with one of his hands and urges her to look at him. “I wasn’t afraid for _you_ , precious thing—I was afraid for _myself_ …” he pauses, smiling slowly when he sees her eyes widen into pools of surprise. For all her posturing of not being naïve and innocent, she certainly looks the part. “That if I allowed myself to feel anything for you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

Once again, if she were savvier, she’d have come up with a better question—but for now, Sarah Williams is dumbstruck by the Goblin King’s confession. “Uh…why?”

He doesn’t buy her act. “The deliberately obtuse performance is aggravating, Sarah,” Jareth responds with an eye roll. “To answer your _eloquent_ question, because I could easily fall in love with you and that would be very, very stupid on my part.”

Sarah’s jaw drops open. “Wha—?”

Jareth interrupts her, tracing her lips with his fingers. “Shh, precious—the question isn’t what, but how. The answer is obvious— _quite easily_.” Which is laughably true.

His fingers feel hot on her skin—blood creeps up her face at his unflinching gaze. Still, she doesn’t avert her eyes. She doesn’t know what to say to him—luckily, she doesn’t have to say anything—he holds his fingers over her lips.

“I’ve wanted you for what feels like an eternity, Sarah—and I’ve been very angry with myself for being unable to fight it. It’s not within our nature to fall in love, especially not with humans—but when we do—it doesn’t work well for either party. There are… _complications_.”

\--

Sarah’s heart feels like it’s going to burst right out of her chest—her pulse is wild. Her blood runs hot when she recalls holding his unmoving head on her lap—holding his hands, and saying out loud that she loved him. Granted she hadn’t had the time to truly think about what she’d said—but had she _truly_ meant the words? Or were they more of a desperate declaration caused by such an emotional upheaval? Either way, she’s glad he was unconscious—it’d be so embarrassing if he had heard her.

“I’ll…” she stops as her voice breaks—she takes in a deep breath to swallow her raging emotions. “I’ll keep that in mind, Jareth. I’m not some crazy person hell bent on making you love me against your better judgment and all that.”

 _Ugh—Williams—stop thinking in Pride and Prejudice terms! You’re turning your life into one big Austenian cliché!_ She stands up, ready to retreat to the safety of her room—or tries, at least—but he stops her with a firm but gentle hold on her shoulder.

A smile ghosts over his lips. “Very generous of you, precious thing, but don’t leave just yet. I need to make sure you—”

Detangling herself from his grasp, she stands up abruptly. “Yes, yes, you need to make sure I’m okay—I’m fine.” She twirls around comically. “See—all good. My ribs feel like someone kicked them wearing steel toed boots, but it’s feeling a lot better than before the shower.”

Jareth purses his lips—dual eyes flash dangerously. “Why did you come back into the house?”

_Wait—what? Why the hell are his eyes flashing like that?_

“Lizzie was inside the house so…” her voice dies out when his eyes go from cold to downright furious.

“You rushed inside a confined space with uncontrolled, intense magic…for your _cat_? Are you really that daft, Sarah? Or was that a temporary lapse of sanity?”

Her eyes are ablaze with equal vehemence. “I care about Lizzie okay—I didn’t rescue her from the shelter just to leave her defenseless against you, or your psycho brother. Maybe it was stupid, but that’s what you do for those you love. I saw you on the floor, and you looked—” she chokes back a sob, unable to keep her emotions at bay any longer—“I thought you were dead.”

Holding her wrist gently with one hand, Jareth pulls her next to him—grateful when she doesn’t struggle. The sight of her fighting to keep her tears at bay thaws the ice around his heart. “You saved my life,” he breathes into her hair—he places a loose kiss on her temple. “If you hadn’t come to me then, I wouldn’t have been able to siphon the Labyrinth’s magic.”

She shivers, feeling his breath on her face—her neck. “I wasn’t thinking of all that, I just wanted…” she’d wanted to hold him. “You have my help—should you need it, Jareth.”

Her words catch him off guard. “In what way?”

She stops herself from rolling her eyes—bastard seems to enjoy making her state the obvious. “I’m not going to move to your world or barter myself off to your court—but if you need me to help with the Labyrinth—as the key or whatever—I’ll do it. Or anything else required to make sure you get your throne back.”

He raises a brow. “Ever the virtuous heroine, aren’t you? Do you know what your… _offer_ …could entail? Don’t you ever grow wary of jumping into dangerous situations without thinking twice?”

_Aww hells no. What an ungrateful jerk._

“I was trying to be nice, asshole,” she hisses—she struggles, trying to pull out of his grasp, but the bastard has her in a vice like grip. “Let go of me—mmmph.”

...her words are muffled as he molds his lips to hers in a devastating kiss.

_What the hell is he doing? He’s kissing you, you idiot—oh my God his tongue feels divine. Stop sitting there like a startled goldfish and kiss him back!_

\--

_(A few hours later, Jareth’s room)…_

She lays her head on his chest, eyes focused on the ceiling. “I like the skylights,” she observes—it allows a generous amount of natural light during the day, and has a beautiful view of the night sky after dusk.

“Hmm,” he murmurs distractedly, a hand running through her long hair. He hadn’t had a chance to tell her how he felt—one kiss and he’d been lost. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from tearing her ridiculous robe apart and driving into her with an urgency that shocked even him. But then again, she’d returned his advances with equal passion.

“Jareth, are you even listening to me?”

The Goblin King snaps out of his thoughts, grinning when he sees her emerald eyes peering angrily into his. Her hair flows wildly, untamed—a delicious flush runs all the way down her exposed body—her lips are swollen. “Something about skylights and natural lighting—not exactly a riveting topic, precious.”

She sighs. “Never mind that—I was trying to neutralize the situation before we talked.”

A laconic brow. “Neutralize _what_ situation?”

She sits up, pulling the sheets close to her chest. “This situation, Jareth,” she says, gesturing wildly at the space between them. “You haven’t exactly guaranteed that you’re not going to sell me to your council—now would be a good time to reassure me profusely that that’s not going to happen.”

He frowns— _hadn’t he made this clear hours earlier? What more does she want?_

“I was exiled because I refused to summon you to the Underground as per the court’s orders, Sarah. I could have dragged you then, kicking and screaming—and I didn’t. How’s that for reassurance?”

“That’s your defense? That you could have kidnapped me but you didn’t?”

Jareth smiles slowly—her eyes are adorably wide—as if she’s in shock, but also furious. “I suppose it’s not much of a defense.”

“Damn right it isn’t. In fact, it’s a pathetic—mmmmph.” Once again, her words are cut short when he crushes his mouth to hers.

\--

_(Ehem, sometime later)…_

“God, I can’t…” she wheezes out—her breathing still rough—“that was…I didn’t know that was possible.”

Jareth grins at her—his eyes hungry as he watches her breasts heave up and down. “Anything’s possible, precious thing—if you put your mind to it.”

Her face heats up—he’d pressed her against the glass wall, making her hold her palms flat against the cool surface. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The smile he flashes her is somewhere between predatory and playful. “You’ll take much more than my word, Sarah.”

His heated gaze makes her tremble, and she gasps when he reaches for her again. “Aren’t you, like, late or something?”

Jareth deftly pushes her on the bed and covers her body with his, making sure not to crush her with his weight. He kisses a scorching trail from her shoulder to her ear, and whispers, “Late for what?”

She moans as his kisses his way to her breasts. “To go become the Goblin King again, I don’t know—take part in some crazy ceremony. Kick the court’s ass for kicking you out—or at least telling them ‘I told you so.’”

Lifting his head, he looks into her eyes—her tone is light, but there’s uncertainly reflected in her gaze. “I don’t plan on going back until they beg me, precious.”

“Uh…WHAT?”

He laughs—his hair, which had been shorter just a few hours ago, falls in ethereal wisps around his stark face. The lines on his jaw become sharper still— _yep_ , she thinks, _decidedly less human_.

Sarah frowns when he continues laughing— _at her_ , it seems. “Jareth—what the fuck is going on?”

“The goblins are an unruly bunch at best, precious thing—so unruly that the court, very foolishly, decided to grant Valen access to the Goblin throne. I’ve decided to let the goblins run wild for some time.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You’re letting goblins loose on the court as some kind of revenge?”

Jareth’s grin is sharp and feral. “Not _some_ kind of revenge, precious thing—the _ultimate_ revenge. They bound my magic, gave my throne to my crazy brother, knowing how dangerous he was. They can damn well deal with goblins until I feel generous enough to intervene.”

Her eyebrows remain frozen in place. “So what will you do now?” A hard lump forms in her throat as she wonders whether they’ll go back to being strangers in New York. She tries wriggling out from under him, but he holds her in place—his eyes turn dark.

“I can think of one thing,” he says, eyes glittering as he settles himself between her legs—to his surprise she grins at him wickedly.

She flips their positions so that she’s on top. “Only one?”

\--

_(…yet again…a few *more* hours)…_

“We can’t just keep fucking each other every time we try having a conversation, Jareth—it’s unproductive.”

Jareth rolls his eyes and gives her a disaffected pshaw. “How crude you are, Sarah—we are not fucking, we’re making love.”

 _Oh god, how lame_. “Fine—we can’t _make love_ every time we talk.”

“Why not?” He grins when her eyes heat up with anger. “I’m joking, of course.”

“Will we…” _hang out…?...have sex…?...drink coffee…?_ She doesn’t know what to say—she settles for—“…will I see you once we’re back in New York?”

The spark of humor fades from his eyes—his expression is unreadable. “Unless you wish otherwise.”

“Oh…” the relief she experiences is equal parts satisfying as it is painful.

“On second thought, perhaps not.”

Sarah’s eyes snap up. “Why not?”

Jareth’s voice is deathly calm when he speaks, deceptively soft belying the dark warning in his words. “I’m not the hero in our story, Sarah— _you_ are. I would force myself into your life whether you wished it or not. I’ve kept myself a safe distance from you all these years—that’s no longer the case.” Gods help him, but now that he’s had a taste of her, there’s no turning back— _not for him_. 

_Whoa—whoa—whoa._

Her eyes go wide—the true meaning behind his earlier words hits her with the force of an anvil. Going by the depth of emotions reflected in his unfathomable eyes, he was right to be afraid.

“Have I frightened you?”

“Yes,” she whispers her response, but her voice remains steady. “What frightens me more is my reaction to you.”

A self-deprecating smile. “As it should.”

She decides to change the morose subject. “So what will you do now? Continue travelling and learning new recipes?”

“I was hoping I could join you at work, precious,” he says, rubbing circles on her naked back as he pulls her close.

Sarah laughs. “Trust me, you’ll end up bogging half my office if you ever visit.”

“Not your current place of employment, precious,” he responds with a sly gleam to his dual gaze. “Being an exiled monarch has certain advantages—one of which happens to be a large bank account. If you wish to make a documentary—you have the High Court’s finances at your disposal.”

She jumps up to a sitting position. Is he saying what _she thinks_ he’s saying? “Hold the phone—WHAT?”

“We could work on your documentary together…or not. _You_ work on your documentary—I’ll eat, drink, and see the world—how does that sound?”

Her eyes widen comically. “You’re fucking serious?”

“Very.”

“Isn’t the High Court going to be pissed?”

Jareth shrugs, unconcerned. “They’ll cooperate if they want me back on the Goblin throne.”

“Holy cow Batman, I don’t know what to say.”

Holding out a long fingered hand, Jareth conjures a crystal and twirls it around his fingers—he looks at her with, teeth bared in a wolfish grin. “I’m giving you a second chance to accept your dreams, Sarah Williams—do you want it?”

Unfortunately, Sarah doesn’t get a chance to answer—an enraged Miss Elizabeth Bennet jumps on Jareth’s bed and demands to be fed.

\--

FIN

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell to the yes.
> 
> AN—holy shit. This chapter was the toughest to write—I thought boring sex was difficult but nope—the ‘reconciliation afterwards’ without being ‘cheesy as fuck’ was even more difficult.
> 
> I assume ‘I love yous’ will be exchanged at some point—maybe a month or so down the line. Too soon right now—even for a cheesy as fuck fic.
> 
> Sarah’s sweet—she’s the type who takes breakfast for other people—goes out of her way to be liked—isn’t a prude, but hasn’t been too sexually adventurous either—is one of those genuinely nice people. [The type that make me go…hmm…what makes them tick?]
> 
> Even toned down Jareth would get bored after a few months—he’ll find himself fantasizing about someone else—they’ll drift apart—at best, they’ll break up one day. At worst—she’ll come home to find Helios in his bed. I just don’t buy this relationship—don’t think it’ll work out between the two. Do you?
> 
> What happens next:
> 
> Jareth’s all ‘fuck you assholes, deal with crazy goblins until they drive you insane—I’ll take my time coming back.’
> 
> Sarah’s all ‘I said I loved him, but do I really—must have lukewarm monkey sex to find out.’
> 
> K’s all ‘omg thank god this is finished.’
> 
> The other ending (sappier one) I had to this was soooooooooooooooooo eye roll worthy—I couldn’t do it.
> 
>  

**Author's Note:**

> AN—this story was very easy to map out. Sarah’s interview was pre-recorded. 
> 
> I blame the Labyrinth Facebook page for this—that and my job—which demands that I sit and zone out between projects (still get paid so can’t complain, I guess). And the fact that I have to write an original story within the next five months to win a decent amount of blow up money—and I need to practice writing a bit of action and mystery for it b/c I don’t want to submit utter crap. 
> 
> Also—UST—I need help practicing writing sexual tension b/c I normally let my characters just do it already. I’m attempting (the key word) writing YA so need practice with UST. This story is rated M—I don’t think anything in the first few chapters will go beyond a T rating. It’s not going to be overtly explicit—that means, no usage of the words clit, cock, or cunt (except for this once *wink*). More sensual, less sexual (oh lord, I just rolled my eyes at myself). You get the idea.


End file.
